


Garden of Bones

by JSWilliams



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence - Red Wedding, Dragons, F/M, Family Feels, Fem!Robb Stark - Freeform, Female Robb Stark, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Game of Thrones Fix-It, Genderbending, Gendrya - Freeform, Grey Wind Lives, House Greyjoy, House Stark, Love Stories, M/M, Mad Queen Daenerys Targaryen, Marriage Proposal, One True Pairing, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Queen in the North, Robb Stark Lives, Romance, Rule 63, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, Starcrossed Lovers, Stark Wolves, Stark fan, The Prince That Was Promised, Theon Greyjoy Lives, True Love, War, direwolves, fuck season eight, jonsa, quarantine fic, the pack survives, throbb - Freeform, winter is coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24429187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSWilliams/pseuds/JSWilliams
Summary: Based in an alternative world where Robb Stark had been born a girl instead, with this story being what I think her effects upon the overall plotline would be, spanning over all eight seasons of the Tv show.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Sansa Stark/Willas Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark, Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Comments: 33
Kudos: 131





	1. Chapter One ~ A Stark Line-up

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Please read, this will be the only author note given in this story.  
> Okay, so this is my first Game of Thrones fan fiction, of which will follow the TV show solely since I have admittedly only read the first book of the series so far. It will also be mostly a character study of a female Robb Stark and her effects upon the overall plotline, so expect it to eventually veer off into AU territory at some point.  
> And while I know that Fem! genderbend fanfics aren't typically a lot of peoples cup of tea, I just can't seem to make myself care, to be honest with you. What can I say, I'm an unrepentant fan-girl with a love for alternative perspectives and strong female leads, I ain't even sorry lol. Don't like? Don't read. It's as simple as that, I'm afraid.  
> WARNINGS! - This story will contain strong language, adult themes that some people may find uncomfortably (It's a fanfic based off of the world of GoT . . . are you really surprised?), explicitly detailed sexual scenes, and *really* long chapters.
> 
> Any-who! I hope you like this story half as much as I enjoyed writing it, much love, J. S. Williams.
> 
> P.S. As always, I own nothing, this is just for fun and no money was made, so please no suing me, ta!

_**** _

_**Winterfell, Main Courtyard** _

* * *

**R** ealistically, Robbie was aware that she hadn't actually been standing out here all that long, and yet, her boredom made it feel a _far_ longer wait. She shuffled from one booted foot to the other, tugging uncomfortably upon the restricting corset of the dress she was most reluctantly wearing, a pretty grey embroidered monstrosity that Sansa had made Robbie especially for this occasion. 

And while she very much appreciated her little sister's efforts, Robbie still couldn't help but hate it with a passion, as she swotted the heavy skirts back, kicking her leg out to the side to aid her efforts. It just wasn't practical, to wear such ridiculous lengths, if you were to ask her, especially here in the North where materials needed to be thick and weighty. But her mother simply wouldn't hear of her wearing her usual breeches to greet the King of all Westeros looking anything less than the perfect lady she had endeavoured painstakingly for Robbie to be, so here she stood . . . _suffering,_ all for the sake of propriety. 

"Roberta, where in gods name is your sister?" Her mother asked, as she frantically looked around for her youngest daughter, who was not present in the greeting line-up like the rest of her children forcibly were made to be.

Robbie had seen Arya scuttle off as soon as the approaching banners had been spotted, it didn't take a learned man to take a guess on just where she was now, no doubt taking in the sight of the party of Knights and Kingsguards arriving with great awe. Arya's interest in the supposed noble men had nothing to do with the reasons that Sansa was eager to set her eyes upon them, to be sure - no, Arya wanted to _be_ them, not be _with_ them, like most little girls dreamed of. 

"How should I know, mother?" Robbie sighed, rolling her eyes at her mother and the production of perfection she aimed to achieve to impress their royal visitors, all the while Robbie was wishing she was anywhere else other than where she was currently standing. "You know Arya, she probably just went somewhere with a better view of their arrival, that is all."

Ignoring Sansa's bony elbow jabbed pointedly into her right side and an arched look from her father on her left, both telling her without words to 'play nice' with their mother for once. Robbie let a heavy sighed out in irritation, rolling her Tully blues unchecked, as she tugged uncomfortably at the constricting high neckline of the dress for the hundredth time that morning.

Gods did she miss her comfortable breeches.

In actual fact, it had been her father who had actually asked it of her, to don a dress and at least _endeavour_ to look like a proper lady for once; but Robbie knew who the request had actually come from. Her mother was no fool, she knew exactly how to get a job done without actually getting her hands dirty herself, which was why she had sent her husband to talk to their wild-spirited daughter, for she knew Robbie couldn't refuse her father as easily she would her mother.

It was no secret in the North, that the she-wolf, as their people had come to call her early in her youth, favoured her father far more so in temperament than she did her mother, despite being graced with her mother's prominent Tully looks, of fire kissed hair and piercing blue eyes. She, of course, loved her mother dearly, even when she and Robbie were screaming themselves horse at each other.

She just didn't want to _be_ anything like her.

Caitlyn Stark could never really fully embrace the North, which was one of the reasons she couldn't fully embrace her own daughter now, because truth be told, Robbie was Northern through and through. She grew up with a sword in her calloused grasp and mud on her breeches, which her father had never tried to discourage her too hard from, at least, not until Sansa was born and her mother finally put her foot down.

Sansa was a daughter that acted _right_ , like all the other little ladies from their mother's childhood in the Southern courts, not a wild daughter that was forever tracking mud behind her wherever she went. And while Robbie loved Sansa just as dearly as she did her mother, she didn't want to be anything like her either. She was beautiful, smart and given the right incentives, Robbie believed that Sansa could find that long-suppressed Wolf-Blood inside herself too and become a fierce and terrifying force to be reckoned with. But that day wasn't one that was coming anytime soon for her sister, which was a shame, because it meant that her and Robbie's relationship was growing ever distant and hostile with every year that passed them by into adulthood. 

It was too late for Robbie to change, even if she wanted too, she was far too independent to change her rebellious ways, though it certainly didn't stop her mother from trying vainly. Robbie was to be the next Warden of the North, after her father, as was her right as eldest Stark child, gender be damned. She was more than capable of holding the title, had bested all the boys her own age in mock battle and even Jory once, which was once more than anyone else ever had. She wanted to fight right alongside her father as his eldest child, just as she would have been allowed to if she had been born with a cock between her legs, and he had even allowed her to do so on occasion - much to his wife's ire. 

With an amused twitch of pink bowed lips, Robbie watched as Arya came rushing up to the line, suddenly remembering her place as a budding young Lady of Winterfell, but not the helmet she still wore upon her head. It was far too large for her, slipping down over excited-eyes as she rushed by, her hand having to come up to hold it up in place, so she could actually see where she was rushing to.

"Hey, hey, hey," their father halted her momentum abruptly, grasping her wrist gently as she tried to pass him by to join the line-up, between Bran and Sansa, her place of age as third-youngest Stark child. "What are you doing with that on?" Ned Stark asked of his youngest daughter, as he pulled the helmet off with a frown, shaking his head in exasperation, before passing it off to Jory behind him, "Go on."

As Arya scuttled off to join her place, Ned Stark turned to raise an accusing and slightly amused brow at his oldest child stood beside him, who only shrugged in false innocence. Robbie knew it was partially her fault that her sister was so determined to be just like her, in fact, Robbie had even encouraged it, teaching Arya in secret the arts of wielding a bow and a sword. Their mother had made it quite plain, Arya was to be a lady, just like Sansa, not a disappointment like Robbie apparently was. Of course, she had used a different word, but the message was clear all the same, she did not care for the fact that Robbie was _not_ more like her. It was the root and stem of the friction in their relationship, just as Robbie's love and affection for her bastard brother and Ward best friend were the flowers that bloomed from that twisted root. 

They came riding into the square of Winterfell like the pompous Aristocrats that they were, with the Kingslayer leading their congregation. He was just as handsome as the many rumours claimed he would be, Robbie noted with very little interest, for she had long ago learned that the pretty ones were far from her type. Especially _southern_ ones. They just weren't bred like they were here, in the north. The Prince, of whom was currently eyeing her and Sansa greedily, being case in point, as he strutted around the square on his horse like a pretentious peacock showcasing his feathers. 

_So this boy is to be our King one day_? Robbie asked herself, barely managing to suppress her grimace of disgust, far from impressed by his antics, unlike her starry-eyed sister, Sansa, who oh-so clearly was bewitched by his golden locks.

Following their father's lead, the Stark children knelt as one, heads bowed, as the King climbed down from his horse with the aid of a stepping stall. _Really now, what King couldn't even climb down from his own horse?_ She thought with a snort, which got her a warning look from her father, as the King all but stomped over to them.

He stood before her father, hand on the hilt of his sword, as he idly motioned with his gloved fingers for her father to rise once more. And as one, his children and people rose along with him, barely a fraction of a second behind their Lord. 

"Your Grace," her father intoned respectfully, as he bowed his head briefly in deference to the shorter man stood before him. 

A tense moment passed, as the King remained silent, assessing her father with half squinting eyes from a round face nearly eclipsed by a thick beard of black. "You got fat," the King finally commented dryly, which brought forth another snort from Robbie at the irony of the _round_ man's words. 

Thankfully, her unladylike sound was muted enough that the King didn't notice, but by the amused snicker she could hear from Theon, who stood directly behind her, he had heard her just fine. Flicking an amused look quickly over her shoulder at her friend, she smirked conspiringly, ignoring Jon's disapproving look as he stood beside the Ironborn male with his ever-present sullen expression firmly in place.

Her father flicked a pointed look down at their King's prominent belly, which promptly incited laughter from the two old friends, as they pulled one another into a tight embrace. After a few manly pats to the back, the King stepped back from her father and turned instead to greet her mother.

"Caaaat!" He drew out her nickname, one of which Robbie knew very well that her mother despised from anyone but her husband, for it wasn't becoming of a lady to shorten one's name, as she had preached at Robbie enough times in her ten-and-six years of life for it to become permanently etched into her mind. Her mother allowed him to pull her into what looked to be an uncomfortably crushing embrace, of which left the older woman flustered and stiffly postured, as she patted him awkwardly on the back in return.

Pulling back from the now ruffled Lady Stark, the King patted her youngest son, Rickon, upon his auburn curls idly, before moving back to face her father. "Nine years," the King stated with an air of question, "Why haven't I seen you - where the hell have you been?"

"Guarding the North for you, your Grace," her father explained simply, as the Queen descended from her carriage behind the King with her _many_ ladies-in-waiting, "Winterfell is yours."

Like her twin, the Queen was just as beautiful as the tales claimed her to be, with long flowing braids of gold, delicate facial features and verdant eyes so piercing that they could be considered a weapon all of their own. She obviously did not want to be here at all, her closed-off posture, hands clasped before her, paired with her unwavering sneer, was more than enough evidence of that simple fact. 

"Where is the imp?" Arya, in all her tactless glory, asked of Sansa, loud enough that Robbie heard her question as clear as day, despite the fact that Sansa stood between them.

"Will you _shut up_ ," Sansa snapped back in reply, not even sparing their younger sister a glance, as she continued to make doe-eyes at the Prince, much to Robbie's growing irritation at love-sick looks her younger sister was unabashedly giving away. Clearly, there was _no_ accounting for taste.

"Well, what have we here?" The King asked as he moved passed their father to stand before Robbie, "You must be my namesake, Roberta the radiant, the rumours of your beauty do not do you justice, my dear," said the fat King, as his shockingly blue eyes feasted upon her features for just long enough for it to turn uncomfortable and to make her skin crawl, despite the impassive face she stared back at him with, "You truly are inhumanly beautiful, child, I would not be surprised to learn that you have Siren-blood in your veins somewhere along with that famous Wolf-blood your father is always going on about."

A tight smile was all she offered the King in response, much to the angry glare she could feel her mother aiming at her, not that the King did not seem offended by her coldness, if anything, he looked amused as he moved on to Sansa. Who stood up straighter, shoulders back, as the King turned his gaze upon her, eagerly awaiting his assessment like it somehow determined her worth _. Silly girl_ , Robbie couldn't help but think, as she eyed her naïve little sister, so desperate for the approval of all these Southerners, it was unbecoming of a Northerner in Robbie's so humble opinion. 

"Ah, another pretty one," was all he said, much to the obvious disappointment of Sansa, who glared up at Robbie as the King moved on to Arya, almost as if to suggest it was somehow _her_ fault that she didn't garner more words of flattery.

"Your name is?" The King asked of Arya as he bent slightly before her, hands upon his wide hips and a thick brow raised in question, as his eyes pointedly flicked over all the dirt and mud soiling her dress-skirts.

"Arya," she offered up simply, meeting the King's eyes head-on, all the while looking about as impressed as Robbie was finding herself.

"Ah," The King sounded around a chuckle as he moved on down the Stark line-up, frowning playfully down at the second-youngest Stark child, who blinked up in awe at the very same King from his bed-time stories, "Show us your muscles." More than happy to play along, Bran promptly pulled his right arm up beside his head, bending it just right to present the King with his non-existent muscles. "You'll be a soldier," the King proclaimed with a genuine chortle, getting a blinding smile from Bran in response.

The Queen chose then to approach them all, with a bored look of obligation on her beautiful face, as she offered her dainty hand to their father like it was a chore to do so. Ned Stark obliged, kissing it chastely, as was the custom of in the South, with a simple "My Queen". An action that was soon followed by his wife, who bowed low, with a soft "My Queen". 

"Take me to your crypts," the King suddenly ordered of their father, putting an end to the pleasantries of the rather awkward greeting, much to Robbie's barely contained relief. "I want to pay my respects."

"We've been riding for a month, my love," the Queen said softly, with hard eyes that did not match the loving endearment or the sweetness of her voice, at least until she finished cuttingly with, "Surely the _dead_ can wait."

With a curt nod and an even curter bark of "Ned" the King completely disregarded his Queen, without even having the courtesy to spare her a parting glance. Her father looked awkwardly at the Queen, clearly not approving of the King's treatment of his own wife, before following along behind his King, leaving them to deal with the tension and embarrassment the King's hostility had caused the Northmen and most notably the Southern Queen.

Clearing her throat, her mother bowed once more to appease the Queen's wounded pride, as she said softly, "Shall we, my Queen," as she motioned towards the Great Hall behind them.

As everyone headed in, Robbie hung back purposefully, all so she could be free of the Prince's leering stare and Sansa's ire in response to it. _Please_ , like she actually wanted that little prick to take an interest in her, she could not help her beauty any more than Theon could his arrogance, they were both simply born that way.

"It seems the Prince has already taken an interest in you, Stark." 

_Ah, what is that age-old saying . . . think of the devil and he shall appear_ , she thought spitefully, as her best friend slid into step beside her. He was dressed in his finery, as she was, only he did so willingly, proudly presenting his Kraken House sigil upon his broad chest.

"Don't even jest about it, Greyjoy," Robbie mock glared, as she pushed his shoulder playfully in warning, "Did you see Sansa's face? The little twit actually thinks I'm interested in _that_ peacock, so let's not tease words that might give weight to her imagined slights, shall we?"

He snorted in amusement, running a casual hand through his dark-sandy curls, "Aye, she's murder to live with as-is, no need to fan that particular fire, she'll burn us all with her jealousy."

With a resigned sigh of contempt, Robbie bent to gather up her impractically long and ridiculously heavy dress-skirts, glaring playfully at Theon as he watched her snatch at the thick grey material in unconcealed amusement. As a rule, she did _not_ wear dresses, preferring to dress in an attire much similar to the boys her own age, breeches and jerkins aplenty. Though Sansa had designed everything she wears to be more flattering, stating that no sister of hers was going to walk around looking like a man, the shame of it. Robbie didn't much mind what her sister made for her to wear, not so long as it was practical and she was comfortable, meaning _no_ skirts period. 

"Maybe if you had opted to dress as you usually do the Prince wouldn't have been so taken with you upon first glance," Theon commented with a chuckle, as she reluctantly took the arm he offered to escort her into the Hall with, of which she only did so because she knew it would displease her mother greatly to see them in such a way, "I have to say, you are a sight to behold, Robbie, when you actually _bother_ to look like the lady you are."

She knew his words were for show, hells, the whole of Winterfell knew it to be so, which was also why her mother hated him so much so. He was always staring at her in a completely improper way, no matter how she dressed, and not half as subtle as he liked to think himself to be. He never acted upon his obvious interest, it would be a fruitless effort, for he was a Greyjoy and she was a Stark, of which the two simply could not mix.

Neither of her parents, no matter how fond her father had come to be of his Ward, would ever allow a match between them to blossom. For no matter how well treated Theon was with them, he was still a hostage, with a proverbial sword at his throat. Just waiting for the day his father would either break the treaty, which would ensure Theon's head found its way upon a pike, or to die himself and pass his title of Lord of the Iron Islands onto Theon as his heir. 

"I am no average lady, Theon, as you well know," Robbie snorted, before letting out a sigh, reluctance dominating her beautiful features, "It's at times like this I wish I had a cock between my legs - they're going to suggest marriage to that pompous little peacock, I just _know_ it, my mother is still trying to convince my father to make Bran his heir over me."

"I doubt even your mother is that cruel," Theon tried to reassure, even when clear doubt at his own words fleeted through his sharp sea-hued eyes.

But it wasn't his pitiful attempt at reassurance that soothed Robbie's frustrations and dares she admit, even to herself, fear - it was his cocky smile that balmed her fraying nerve ends.He was a man that tends to smile a lot, as if the whole world were a great secret joke, one that only he was clever enough to understand. It had always been a comforting sight to behold, Robbie thought privately, even if his confidence was sorely miss placed more often than not. 

"Maybe you, Jon and I can slip from the feast later, go for an evening ride through the Gods Woods, _anything_ just so long as it's not _here_ ," Robbie offered quickly, as they finally came upon the grand double doors of the Great Hall.

"Your mother would notice if we all disappeared at once, especially you, and then have our heads for it, Robbie," he shook his head, with his usual mocking eyes filled with soft pity, "But I promise I will try, as best I can, to run interference between you and the golden peacock, alright?"

"I suppose it'll have to do," Robbie sniffed haughtily, even as she squeezed his arm gratefully.

He walked her into their Great Hall, with her hand delicately placed upon the crook of his arm, with them looking every inch the noble pairing they really weren't. As a child, she had fantasied with the notion of one day marrying Theon, her best friend - that one day they would then rule over all of the North together as Lady and Lord Stark. But as she grew, she learnt that was an impossibility, a childish dream, one that her mother had been quick to dismiss as such. 

"Your mother is glaring at me," Theon pointed out, amusement lacing his voice, as he led her up to the high-table, cutting right through the middle of the crowded room.

Robbie snorted, shooting him an arched look, "When is my mother _not_ glaring at you, Theon?"

It was true, Catelyn Stark did not like nor trust their young Greyjoy Ward, especially not around her oldest daughter. But she had learnt to hold her tongue, just so long as Robbie's and Theon's friendship remained just that, a _friend_ ship, with Jon, who was equally disliked by the Lady of Winterfell, being always there with them to act as a chaperone. But even still, she did not like it, her eldest daughter running around with two males, stating that it wasn't proper, a fact that she did not attempt to hide her viewpoint on to anyone who would listen.

"Maybe we should run away and get wed in secret," Theon jested, eye's dancing as he smiled roguishly at her, "Can you imagine her face if you returned to her wed to me with a Kraken in your belly?"

Rolling her eyes, Robbie pointedly missed the longing in her friend's eyes, as she said, " _Really_ , Theon - a Kraken? I think you mean a Sea-Wolf, to be sure."

"Aye," he laughed, with his head thrown back and honesty in the carrying sound that turned several heads their way, "Any babe of ours would defiantly inherit that fiery wolf-blood of yours."

"Damn right it would," she nodded, as she tilted her chin up in put-upon pride, getting a snort from her friend at her side.

Finally reaching the high-table, Robbie sighed self-pityingly, as she turned to meet Theon's equally pitying eyes one last time. With a roll of her eyes, Robbie allowed a once again amused Theon to place a kiss upon her knuckles, knowing he did it for her mother's benefit. She didn't need to turn to face the table to know her mother's glare had surely turned glacial at the daring action, for she could feel the two shards of ice piercing her back.

"Must you always play with fire, Greyjoy?" She huffed, shaking her head at his reckless antics, as she pulled her hand back gently.

He stepped back with that cocky smile turning up his lips, as mirth danced in those oh-so-pretty eyes of his, "Come on, my Lady, if _you_ haven't burnt me yet no fire ever will."

And with that said, Theon turned away, heading to find a place to sup among the masses, as she turned with an irritated sigh to find her own place up at the high-table. As she expected, her mother was glaring hard at her, while the Queen looked upon her with barely concealed disdain.

"Forgive me, but I was under the impression that you were not yet betrothed, Roberta? It is why my husband was seeking your hand for my dear boy, Joffrey, the crowned prince of the realm," The queen asked, as Robbie took her seat beside her mother, though it was all said to sound more like a statement than an actual question.

"I am promised to no one, your Grace, nor will I be so anytime soon," Robbie replied evenly, getting a raised brow from the Queen and a panicked glare from her mother. "I have no plans to marry a Southern Lord, nor do I have any designs of being a Queen one day, for the North is where I belong."

"Is that so," the Queen said sharply, anger flickering to life in her eyes, as she heard loud and clear what Robbie was veiledly saying - that she had _no_ desire to wed to _her_ son. 

"It is," Robbie confirmed firmly before her mother could even think to speak for her, which her alarmed look and open mouth suggested she was just about to so, "I am the Heir of Winterfell, it is my duty to the North to act accordingly, to one day wed a northerner and continue the Stark line as Lady and Warden of the North. Your Grace," She added the woman's title respectfully if only to appease her mother's frayed look at Robbie's so blatant snub at the Queen and her Son.

"Your younger brother, Brandon, he is to be the Heir, is he not - not you, a mere _girl_ ," The Queen fired back mockingly, hoping to knock Robbie down a peg or two, no doubt.

With amusement twinkling in her oh-so Tully blue eyes, Robbie shot beck coldly, as she grabbed a breaded roll sat before her on the table, "Aye, in most cases, that would be true. But I am _not_ like most girls, your Grace, I am a Stark. I am the Heir, as the oldest trueborn child, and father has named me as such - Winterfell will be mine when the time comes."

Before the Queen could say something Robbie was sure would be cutting, if the spite growing in her green eyes was anything to go by, the King and her father entered the Great Hall. Soon after, the feast began, with music and laughter following in it's wake, as the Northerners and the Southerners gathered dined in merriment.

Eyeing the room full to the brim with her kinsmen, Robbie smiled contently, as watched them from her place beside her mother, the place of the Heir. It was unorthodox, to be sure, for her father to name her Heir in the place of Bran, his firstborn son. But Eddard Stark was an honourable man, one who was not cowered or swayed by the views of the many, he saw worth in her and that was all that mattered to him. 

Too bad he _could_ be cowered by his wife though, she thought sourly, as she searched the room with her sharp and rapidly narrowing eyes for her brother's sad puppy-dog ones. Father should have legitimised him years ago, it was what was right, his wife's pride be damned - but he had _not_. It was the one thing that Robbie did not respect her father for, that he could not own up to his own mistakes. Instead, he made Jon live as nothing more than a Bastard all his life because he was too much of a coward to cross her jealous mother, of whom punished the boy for the sins of his father.

"Where is Jon, mother?" Robbie asked suspiciously, already dreading the answer, as she turned her accusing gaze upon her mother's stubborn one.

"Not here," was all she said, as she sipped at her goblet, pointedly not looking at her daughter's now angry gaze.

"Tell me you did not _forbid_ him from the feast, mother," Robbie demanded upon a hard whisper, "Tell me that even _you_ are no that spiteful."

"Mind your tongue, Roberta," her mother snapped back, flicking a cautious eye the Queen's way to be sure she wasn't listening to them, gods forbid Robbie was to embarrass her by showing concern for a bastard, "I am your mother and am due the respect that such a title garners."

"What kind of mother would turn away a boy that had been raised right alongside her own children - a boy who shared _their_ blood, even if not her own?" Robbie asked cuttingly, as she pushed back from the table, hoping to shame her with her words.

If anything, her mother looked more stubborn in her defiance, with her chin raised, as she said harshly, "He is a _Bastard_ , Roberta, and he will _never_ be a Stark - accept it and move on, child."

"How can you be so cold?" Robbie asked softly, tears brimming in her Tully blues, as she shook her copper head at her mother in disbelief, "It was father's sin, not his."

And with that harshly put, Robbie stood, using Arya's attack upon Sansa as an excuse to leave her mother's side - for her father would not be please if she slighted her mother in public, no matter how much the woman deserved it. Following Sansa's outraged shrieks, as she wiped food off of her face, Robbie crossed the Hall distractedly, as she attempted to temper her own rage. Grasping her youngest sister beneath her arms, Robbie effortlessly lifted the laughing girl from her spot at the table, swinging her around and away from a now screeching Sansa. 

"Don't worry, Greyjoy, I got her," Robbie assured her put-out looking friend, whose job it was to deal with the Stark children when they warranted separating, receiving a grateful look for her efforts, as he settled back down at the table.

He was well into his cups, more so than usual, but at least he had yet to find a serving wench to pull onto his lap. While she knew she had no right to feel slighted by his wanton actions, he was not hers after all, and yet . . . she always did. Because the truth was, no matter what her parents had to say on the matter, he was _hers_. He had been hers for more years than she could rightfully remember, spanning back from his first day here at Winterfell, when he kissed her offered hand like a proper little Lordling, only to receive a punch in the gut for his efforts.

"Time for bed, little sister," Robbie stated softly, as she promptly took Arya's grubby hand into her own, forcibly tugging her out of the Great Hall.

"Oh, Robbie, no!" Arya whined, as Robbie all but dragged her reluctant sister down the hallway, ignoring the snickering of the servants they passed along the way, "I was just having some fun."

"Yes, I saw," Robbie agreed in muted amusement, "At Sansa's expense - come on, let's get you to bed."

"You're no fun at all," Arya huffed, shoulders slumping, as she finally relented her struggled and walked complacently.

* * *

It was near a full hour later, while the feast was very much still in full swing, that Robbie found herself outside with her Direwolf, Grey Wind, sitting comfortably at her feet, feeling the cold bite of night air pecking at her fair-skinned cheeks. She sat perched upon a barrel, as Jon, her beloved bastard brother, bashed angrily at a practice dummy with a blunted practice sword in the training yard. 

They didn't say a thing to one another, they didn't need to, for them the silent companionship was comfort enough from their shared frustrations. It had always angered Robbie, that her mother treated Jon so cruelly, claiming that it was his fault their father broke her trust. Especially when Jon was one of the kindest, most honourable of men that she had ever met, someone any mother should be proud to call son, blood-be-damned. 

Not at all like Prince Joffrey, Robbie's supposed husband-to-be, if her mother was to have her way, that is. Robbie had no intention of marrying that peacock, she'd rather become an Old Maid or join up with the Silent Sisters than do so, something which she had promptly disclosed to her father when the King had finally left his side in favour of finding a wench to bed for the night. He had readily promised Robbie that he would not force her to marry any man she did not wish to and had even cautiously rebuffed the King his offer of wedding her in favour of a match made with Sansa, who was closer to the Prince's age. Robbie just hoped that the King would favour that match as an alternative. She wasn't stupid, she knew she had made waves today, and several enemies within the royal household, namely the Prince and his Queen mother. 

"Is it dead yet?" The familiar voice of their uncle called out, startling both Jon and Robbie from their individual plaguing thoughts.

"Uncle Benjen!" Robbie and Jon both exclaimed in surprised happiness, as they abandoned their self-appointed posts of angst in favour of greeting the older man enthusiastically. 

Robbie reached him first, all but throwing herself into his waiting arms, as he caught her with a laugh, twirling her around briefly. She let out a light delighted laugh, as he placed her back to her feet, pulling back to take in her unusual attire with a raised brow.

"Mother made Father _make_ me wear it," she grumbled in answer to his unasked question, inciting a laugh from the man, as Jon stepped up for his turn to greet their beloved uncle in an embrace. 

"I road all day," Uncle Benjen stated, as he pulled back from Jon, but still kept a hand upon his nephew's shoulder, "I didn't want to leave you alone with the Lannisters' - I couldn't find either of you at the feast."

"That's because my mother is a vindictive cow and wouldn't allow for him to attend," Robbie explained waspishly on Jon's behalf, more than a little angry at her bitter mother, with her eyes burning with a fire radiant enough to rival even that of the flaming red locks atop her head.

Clearing his throat, Jon explained softly, "Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to see the bastard."

Robbie took Jon's hand into her own, as their uncle Benjen said softly, "Well, you're always welcome on the wall - no bastard was ever refused a seat there."

"So take me with you when you go back," Jon injected earnestly, causing Robbie's heart to clenched painfully, as her eyes shot to her brother's face in alarm, real fear grasped her gut as she took note of just how pleased Jon was by their uncle's words.

She loved Jon dearly, bastard or not, he was her brother in all the ways it mattered most, practically her twin - she couldn't bear the thought of not seeing him on a daily basis. It was selfish, she knew, to want to keep here at Winterfell, especially when she knew he was not happy here - but she had never claimed not to be a selfish woman. 

"Jon - " Uncle Benjen started, only to be cut off by Jon, as he tried to persuade their Uncle desperately, with his hand unconsciously tightening upon Robbie's own.

"Father will let me," Jon insisted, "If you ask him - I _know_ he will."

"The wall isn't going anywhere," Uncle Benjen tried to reassure softly after a brief pause, compassion and care in his tired eyes, as he smiled down at Jon's sullen face.

"I'm _ready_ to swear your oath."

At that, Uncle Benjen chuckled a little bittersweetly, eyes kind, "You don't understand what you would be giving up. We have no families, none of us will ever father sons - "

"I don't care about that!" Jon insisted strongly.

"You might . . . if you _knew_ what it meant," Uncle Benjen rebuffed gently, turning to the face the Great Hall as a smash sounded, followed by laughter, "I better get inside - rescue your father from his guests. We'll talk later," he finished, clasping Jon's arms briefly, before moving to place a chaste kiss upon Robbie's fire-kissed head of hair.

And with that, he was gone, towards the sounds of laughter and merriment, as Robbie watched Jon's hope crumble. Robbie hadn't realised until that moment, just how important this was to her brother, to leave Winterfell - to find a place of his own, one where he felt he belonged, somewhere he wasn't met with scorn at every turn. It was also in that moment that she cursed her mother for what had to be the hundredth time that day, for _she_ was the cause of Jon's feelings of not belonging here, in his own home. 

"Your uncle is in the Night's Watch," a voice called out to them, drawing their duel attention to the small figure that lent casually against a wooden post deep in the shadows, with a leather-skin flask in his hand. 

"What are you doing back there?" Jon asked of the stranger, as he dropped her hand and led their way closer to the man she knew to be the 'imp', Tyrian Lannister, upon first glance. 

"Preparing for a night with your family," the imp answered bluntly, before taking a deep pull from his wineskin, look doing distant as he added, "I've always wanted to see the wall."

"Your Tyrian Lannister," Robbie stated softly, as she curiously watched the little man cross to them, stopping just before Jon, as he leant unsteadily against a stone pillar.

"The Queen's brother," Jon added, recognising him just as she had.

"My greatest accomplishment," Tyrian remarked flippantly, as he looked down at his un-corked flask, before turning his slightly drunken gaze upon Robbie, "You must be the Heir of Winterfell, Roberta Stark, the She-Wolf of the North - I have heard _much_ of your beauty, my dear, none of which is exaggerated, I see. And _you,_ you're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?"

At that, Jon's jaw clenched, before he promptly turned away from Tyrian, as he made haste to pick up his forgotten sword. Robbie glared at the little imp, fists tightened in rage, getting an eye-roll for her efforts from the smallest Lannister lion, as he nodded in acknowledgement at her. He clearly understood his blunder, but was not repentant of his bluntness, as he followed up with, "Did I offend you? _Sorry_. But you _are_ the _bastard_ though." 

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father," Jon confirmed softly, as he turned to face Tyrian, who had crossed to stand before him once more.

Robbie stayed where she was, watching the scene play out, hoping she wouldn't have to gut the little imp by the end of it all if hurt her brother's feelings again - she was already in enough trouble with the Lannisters' as it was, no need to add more kindle to that particular fire.

"But Lady Catelyn Stark is _not_ your mother, making you a bastard. Let me give you some advice, _bastard_ , never forget what you are. The rest of the world - all save your devoted sister over there - will not," he added, shooting Robbie a brief look of respect, before addressing Jon once again, "Wear it like armour - then it can never be used to hurt you."

"What the hell do you know about being a bastard?" Jon asked harshly of the now retreating back of Tyrian.

"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes," and with that said, Tyrian - guzzling from his flask - headed back inside.

Robbie watched as Jon turned back to the practice dummy, hitting it with a particularly hard blow, as she returned to her seat atop the barrel once more, where Grey Wind still remained resting alongside his white litter-mate, Ghost. His pain and frustration bled through with every hit and it hurt her heart to see.

"You know it has never mattered to me, right?" Robbie finally broke the silence, worried about the answer now that she knew that her brother's sadness ran far deeper than she had first thought it had, "You're my brother, Jon, just like Bran and Rickon are - I see no difference between you and them - _none_ at all."

Jon sighed, before crossing to stand directly before her, as he leant forwards to place a tender kiss upon her cold bitten forehead, "I know, Robbie, I know - you have always looked at me like I belong - I've never doubted your love for me, not once."

"That's because you _do_ belong, Jon. You're a Stark, name be damned, just like Theon."

"Father and Lady Catelyn will never allow you to wed him, Robbie," Jon reminded gently, as he stroked the knuckles of his left hand down her now flaming cheeks, "Surely you _know_ that, by now."

"I know it!" She snapped in irritation and a fair bit of embarrassment at her transparency, as she batted his hand away, avoiding his pitying grey eyes, "But regardless, he is a Stark, our kin, no matter what my mother says - just as you are, _brother_."

"There you are!" Theon's familiar deep voice called out as he walked towards them, "I was wondering where you got too, little-wolf, why didn't you come back to the feast?"

Ignoring Jon's snicker and her flush at Theon's childhood nickname for her, one he refused to forget, she hopped down from the barrel and said curtly, "Mother angered me."

Understanding flickered to life in his eyes, as he nodded and said in jest, "When doesn't she?"

Snorting in amusement, Jon turned back to his practice dummy, lest he slips and says something not too kind about the Lady of Winterfell.

"It's too late for a ride now I reckon," Theon started, referring to her earlier suggestion of an evening ride through the Gods Woods, "But how about a walk through them before bed instead?"

"It'll do," she agreed with a sigh, despite the sudden burst of eagerness fluttering in the pit of her stomach, anything but _here_ with all these southerners will do just fine in her book. "Jon?"

"You two go on ahead," he rebuffed kindly, shirking his role as her personal chaperon since Lady Caitlyn wasn't around to insist upon it, "I should practice just in case father does agree to let me go with uncle Benjen."

With a sigh, she leant over to kiss his cheek affectionately, hoping that father didn't, if only to spare Robbie the heartache of losing her brother. Blinking back frustrated tears, Robbie promptly turned away, not looking back as she tried to compose herself, leading Theon into the Gods Woods, with an eager Grey Wind steady at her heels.

They walked in silence for several long moments, Theon having sensed her mood and knowing it would do him no good to pick at the reasons for it, he was intuitive that they, at least in regard to her. Everyone else . . . well, Theon was a tactless arse more often than not, uncaring of who he hurt with his usually cruel and thoughtless words. 

He had never been cruel to her though, not even when she was a child and was always trailing along behind him, demanding that he play knights and maidens with her - with _him_ as the maiden, of course. He had indulged her the indignity of being named the maiden in their games more often than one could expect from a young prideful lad, never once refusing her, not even when she insisted that he be nice to Jon too. 

She knew why, of course, he had admitted the truth of his initial kindness towards her years ago now, not that it had mattered any by that point, they had long since become best friends. He had thought he would one day marry her and make her his Lady Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, but then her father had made her his Heir, making her dreams come true while crushing Theon's. 

"So . . . " Theon prompted with a casual air about his words, despite the stiffness of his shoulders, asking bluntly, "What does your father think of the King's proposal of marriage to his prick of a son?"

"That it is ultimately my choice who I marry," she offered in answer, as she stepped over a large twisting root protruding from the earth before her, "If I do not wish to marry Joffery then I won't - it is as simple as that."

"Your choice, huh?" Theon asked sceptically, as an old bitter glint flickered to life in his expressive eyes as he eyed her.

"Within reason, of course," she adempted softly, reading between his words, "I will still have to marry a Lord one day - one that won't mind making a home in Winterfell and taking the Stark name for his own. A _suitable_ match that will benefit the North."

His jaw clenched, as he watched Grey Wind charge off ahead of them, "He won't make you happy, whoever he is, not like I could."

"No, I don't imagine anyone ever could," she agreed softly, as she gently brushed her cold fingers against Theon's equally cold ones for a fleeting moment of daringness, "But it is my duty to continue the Stark line and name, as it is yours to do the same with your own family name."

It was all she had ever wanted, to follow in her father's footsteps and to always be a Stark, and yet . . . the idea of losing Theon one day felt like a too steep of a price to pay for it all.


	2. Chapter Two ~ When Iron Meets Fire

_**Winterfell Castle, Family Wing**_

* * *

" **F** ather?" Robbie sounded in surprise, several mornings after the arrival of their Southern guest, as she opened the door of her chambers to see his dower face, fisted hand poised to knock, "What is it?" For it must be something of importance for him to come knocking at her door first thing, instead of just waiting to see her as they broke their fast with the rest of their family and the Royals in the Great Hall. 

Stepping past his daughter into the room after she stepped aside in welcome, Ned Stark closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and a tired smile, saying, "The King has agreed to wed Sansa to Joffery in your place, Roberta."

"Really?!" She exclaimed joyfully, all but throwing herself into her father's arms, who caught her with an amused huff.

She had already known he father would never force her hand, even if it meant getting into the King's bad graces by refusing him, and yet still, she had felt a sliver of fear that nothing would deter the King. The rules of succession were different in the North, and yet, her inheriting over her Bran was still a surprise to the many Northmen who had expected the latter to become the new heir after their father. She lived in constant fear of her future being taken away from her, especially when everything and everyone seemed to be against her, it was _hers_ \- damn it! - she wasn't giving it up without a fight. 

"Oh, thank the gods! I had worried we would end up in a war, father, for there is simply no way I will ever allow myself to be wed to that little prick and not end up killing him."

"Roberta," Ned cautioned warningly down at his daughter, as he pulled back from her embrace, despite the hint of a smile twitching at his lips, "He is a Prince, you can not say such things, not when you do not know who might be listening, my sweet summer child."

"Sorry, Father," Robbie chuckled, turning to settle herself on the edge of her bed, relief all but radiating from her every pore, "But even _you_ have to admit the boy is a little beast, I would probably have ended up killing him and then get my head taken for my troubles, should I have been made to wed him."

"Aye, it is exactly why I argued against the union, much to your mother's protests," he agreed, head shaking tiredly, as he crossed to sit on her bed beside her, "She is not pleased, Roberta."

"She is _never_ pleased when it comes to me, father." And wasn't that the truth, it seemed Robbie's every action caused her mother's infinite ire, it wasn't the norm unless her mother was screaming at her about one thing or another. 

"She means well, Roberta," her father sighed tiredly once more, taking her hand into his own, resting it upon his knee, "She just wants what is best for you."

"No," Robbie snorted, anger and frustration prickling in her heart, as she shook her head in steadfast denial, "She wants what is best for _her_. If she truly wanted what was best for me she would let me be _me_."

"Let us not argue, Roberta," Ned said softly, knowing that he'd probably never win in convincing her that her mother meant well, at least not any more than he could convince his wife that their daughter's actions weren't made purely in spite of her, "I have something else I wished to discuss."

"What is it, father?"

"I've agreed to become King Robert's Hand," he said evenly, causing the bottom of her stomach to fall out from under her, as she gapped at him in horrified surprise. But before she could argue against his decision, of which she knew in her very bones that he did not want to act upon, he brought a hand up to halt her words.

"I leave for King's Landing in a weeks time, your sisters and Bran are to accompany me, as your mother wishes for them to be introduced to the Court. She wished for you to come along too, but don't worry, I said no - for a Stark should always be in Winterfell and Rickon is far too young for such a task. You are to lead our people in my place as my Heir while I am gone, daughter, as Lady of Winterfell and as Warden of the North."

"I bet mother wasn't happy about _that_ decision at all - nor your advisers, I'd bet - leaving an unwed _girl_ in charge of the whole of the North," Robbie snorted, imaging the horror on all those old codgers faces, "The men . . . they _won't_ listen to me father."

"Not at first, my child," her father agreed, his hand tightening upon her one that he still held at his knee, "But with time, you will prove yourself, they will see the capable young woman that I have always seen, the future Lady of Winterfell in all her fiery red-headed glory."

"I will make you proud, father," Robbie blinked her gratitude away, as she leant forwards to place a kiss upon his stubble cheek, "I promise."

Smiling softly down at his oldest daughter, he stood, pulling her to her feet along with him, as he said firmly, "I am already proud of you, my sweet child."

His words filled her with more happiness than she knew what to do with honestly, words failed her, as she stubbornly blinked her threatening tears away, awkwardly avoiding his knowing gaze, less he see those pesky dewdrops building. 

Robbie had never been good at showing her emotions proudly, not because she was ashamed, but because she knew that the menfolk around her would see any show of free emotion as weakness. Such as crying, she had learnt early on that it seemed to only remind all of those around her that she was, in fact, a 'she', and no longer their equal, but an overly emotional woman. So, she pushed it away, even sat here before her own father, and stubbornly refused to let herself be perceived as weak or overly emotional. 

Which was why she hastily suggested, "Let us go break our fast before Arya eats all of the good stuff, father," before he could give her another one of his 'it's not shameful to cry' talks, which was easy to say when he wasn't a woman in a man's world. 

He agreed with a gentle smile and a knowing glint in his Stark-grey eyes, opening the door and bowing playfully for her to go first, of which she did with an indulgent eye roll and mocking curtsy back, getting a deep chortle in return from her usually grave-looking father.

They walked arm in arm towards the Great Hall, chatting lightly about food stores and her last training lesson, where Jon had wiped the floor with Theon after the latter had continuously pushed the former's buttons, getting rare laughter from her father as she painted a pretty picture of Jon's victory. 

The Great Hall was just as rambunctious as it had been every day since the arrival of their King, who wasn't happy unless he was surrounded by noise, wine and abundantly bosomed serving wenches. It was unseemly, especially when his wife sat up at the high-table every morning, pretending with a face of indifference that she couldn't see his blatant disrespect and whoring. 

Had he been Robbie's husband, King or not, she would have made him a eunuch by now. Which was why Theon knew better than to pull a wench of his own onto his lap where she could easily see, they had an unwritten rule between them, all dalliances were done where the other could not see. And while Robbie had no 'dalliances' so to speak of, as a woman such casual romances would taint her, she appreciated that Theon had enough care for her feelings not to shove his in her face. 

Spying him sitting near the back of the hall with several of her father's guards, the same table as Jon, though several seats parted them. The two always found themselves seated near one another, by some unspoken solidarity, as the two most unwelcome guests in the Stark household, the Ward and the Bastard. Though, they couldn't be seated beside each other without Robbie as a buffer, at least not without an argument promptly ensuing. 

She bid goodbye to her father, leaving him to face the high-table, where his wife sat awkwardly trying to draw the Queen into polite conversation, a vain attempt if the Queen's turned-up nose was anything to go by. Shaking her head in pity at her father's retreating back, Robbie bobbed and weaved her way through the far too excitable morning crowd, before planting herself with a warm smile at her brother's side.

Jon greeted her with a welcome smile of his own, handing off his own cup of water to her, as he went about preparing her a plate for her morning meal, while she greeted Theon, who sat directly before her. He met her smile with a rankish one, turning his full attention fully to her, as was the norm, so the guard beside him paid very little mind to abruptly being ignored in her favour.

"Morning, Little-Wolf," he spoke lightly, a knowing glint in his eye as he flicked it briefly towards her father and back to her happy smile, "I see your father finally found time to clear up that whole betrothment issue of yours, huh?"

"Aye," she confirmed, taking note of Jon's now relaxing shoulders along with Theon's, knowing that he too had been worried that the King might force the issue of marrying Robbie to the Prince against her will - always the good brother, worrying for her welfare and happiness. "The King has agreed to wed Sansa to the Prince in my place, which suits everyone much better, meaning she can _finally_ stop shooting glares my way now."

"Aye, if her pleased look is anything to go by the little lady-in-training knows of her future already, I'd wager," Theon noted, nodding up at the high-table, prompting Jon and Robbie to turn and take a look for themselves.

Their sister did indeed look far too pleased with herself, all but glowing, as she kept shooting the sneering face of her beloved Prince smitten looks, all the while he pointedly ignored her in favour of glaring Robbie's way. So, he was apparently a little bitter about being refused, no doubt for the first time in his life. Honestly, though, did he _really_ think she'd be happy with being forced to marry a boy of ten-and-two, four years her junior? No, she was not flattered or swooning at the mere thought of being shackled to him for the rest of her no doubt miserable days. 

"Gods, she has no idea what she is getting herself into with that one," Robbie sighed, a fresh wave of pity building in her silly little sister's honour, "I tried to inform her of all the unfavourable rumours surround the Prince and his cruel ways . . . but she would hear none of it."

In fact, she had dared to claim that Robbie was jealous of her, as if you could actually believe that. That one day Sansa would be Queen and her children will all be golden-haired Princes and Princesses, completely missing the point that Robbie had zero interest in be a Queen or having her children inspire to be such, no, all she had ever wanted in life was for Winterfell to be her own.

"Her head is full of songs," Jon stated softly, turning back to was their table, with Robbie following suit, "I hope reality doesn't shock her too hard."

"Maybe a good shock is what she needs," Theon countered, before taking a deep pull of his ale, "She should take a good hard look at the Queen sitting beside her now because that's who and how she is going to be in a few years time, regal and ever the proper lady, as she pretends to not see her lecherous husband fondle the maids around her."

It was a bleak picture he painted, but she couldn't claim that he was wrong, she very much doubted that the Prince would be any different than the man that raised him was, if anything, Robbie feared he'd be worse. The King, for all his obvious and may faults, didn't have the same cruel glint in his eyes that the Prince seemed to have. A glint that promised a world of pain to come one day, making Robbie wish that the King had many more years left in him because gods forbid he die and leave _that_ spoilt _boy_ as a King in his wake, she hoped for a few years for the Prince to forget her slights against him before then. 

Still feeling his grudge-bearing gaze staring daggers into her back, Robbie pointedly dropped the conversation in a vain attempt to distract herself, "Come on, we have practice and Ser Rodrick will make us run drills if we're late again."

Theon grumbled as he pushed back from his bench, as she and Jon silently did the same on the other side, all secretly fearing the promise of that threat. Ser Rodrick did not care for playing favourites towards his Lord's children or even the heir, he lived by the creed: if you dared to be late to one of his lessons, you must accept the consequences of your foolish actions. Which was why they all walked a little faster than what was the norm, beating Ser Rodick into the training yard by mere minutes, already going about their own individual warm-ups. 

When it came to pairing them off, Ser Rodrick pointedly did not pair her with Jon, knowing that it would just result in an endless battle they were both too stubborn to yield from. While he beat her in sheer strength and Robbie beat him in speed, making use of her slight build effectively, they were both perfectly matched in skill. 

Theon, on the other hand, while an expert marksman with a bow, he could not match her with a sword, which made fighting him all the more fun. If he wanted to win he had to work for it, so any fight they had was never boring, and usually resulted in her sweaty, bruised and covered head-to-toe in mud. 

"Come on, Little-Wolf," Theon goated playfully, flipping his sword arrogantly in his calloused hand, as they danced around one another, "Hit me already - before I die of old age!"

"Fuck you, Greyjoy," she responded with a mock glare, flipping her own sword tauntingly, "I'll hit you when I'm good and ready to bloody-well hit you!"

"By the Gods, my lady," he gasped mockingly, as he dodged her first hit, bring his sword up to take the blow, "What would your Lady mother have to say at hearing her oldest daughter spewing profanities like a common Ironborn brute? She'd surely blame _me_ for it."

"I do not _spew_ profanities," she grunted, as she ducked under Theon's arm as he swung at her and danced around to his back, where she planted a firm kick to his arse, propelling him forward with an amused laugh as he staggered to get his footing back, "I _enunciate_ them clearly, like a _fucking_ lady!"

Spinning around, Theon hit a blow to her sword hand with the dulled blade of his own sword, not hard enough to actually hurt her, but hard enough to cause her to drop hers with a surprised grunt. Flinging his own sword off to the side, Theon charged her with a playful smirk curling his lips, as he slammed his upper body into her stomach, propelling her up and onto his shoulder. 

"Theon, you cheater!" She shouted in outraged amusement, as she used his back to push herself up into a vertical position once more, though she was unable to break his tight hold, pinning her firmly against his front.

It was a move he wouldn't have dared to make had she been a boy, one that would have Ser Rodrick reprimanding him for dirty tactics had he not been so focused on correcting one of the guards-in-training footwork on the other side of the yard with his back, luckily for Theon, to them. 

"No one is truly honourable in battle, my lady," he snorted, smiling cheekily up at her, as he adjusted his tight hold around her arse to keep her feet firmly off the ground.

"Very true," she smirked cunningly, before pulling up her legs to wrap around his waist, taking him by surprise, before throwing her upper body backwards, purposely throwing off both his balance and his otherwise unshakable hold upon her.

She hit the muddy ground with a hard thud, as she knew she would, which was also promptly followed by Theon's body falling atop of her own. But thankfully, the Ironborn male had the good sense to fling his arms out to brace himself, before he flattered her completely.

Using his surprise to her advantage, just like Ser Rodrik had taught them to do, Robbie flipped them, pinning Theon to the ground beneath her with a triumphant laugh. She promptly grabbed one of their discarded swords that just so happened to be resting just above Theon's head in her hand, bringing the tip to press against his throat, with a smug smirk gracing her delicate features.

"Yield?"

"Aye," Theon grumbled good naturally, as he knocked the blunted blade back, raising to rest back on his elbows, "I yield, you cheating she-wolf."

With a laugh, she climbed up off of him, holding a hand out to help him up, "No one likes a sore loser, Greyjoy."

Theon opened to his mouth to fire back with a witty remark of his own, no doubt, only to be cut short before he could by a new voice, "So _this_ is why you refused by hand then, too busy whoring yourself out to your father's Ward, an Ironborn brute - have you no shame?"

"Rather an Ironborn brute than a southern prick," Robbie shot back impulsively, as she placed a halting hand upon Theon's arm - no sense in him losing his head in defence of her honour when she was perfectly capable of defending it herself.

"How dare you!" The Prince shouted in outrage, drawing Jon's attention, who had been sparing right beside them, their way, "I am your crowned Prince - you _will_ respect me!"

With Jon now standing at one elbow and Theon at the other, she felt bolder than what was probably wise, as she countered evenly, "Respect is earned, _your grace_ ," purposely adding weight to his title, making it almost sound as if it itself were an insult.

"You won't be saying that when I have my Hound take your brute lover's head," Joffrey snarled, making the mistake of crossing to stand before her as he dared to threaten Theon's life before her.

She could see Ser Rodrick hastily making his way towards them, having just now taken note to the hostility building between his charges and the Prince, but his haste wasn't quick enough. Not before Robbie acted without conscious thought, and yet, she could not find it in herself to regret her dangerously impulsive actions, as she punched the Prince with all her strength, allowing her anger to fuel the blow. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, letting out a girlish cry to put even Sansa to shame, as his hands shot up to his face, only to come away bloody. She had spilt his lip and bloodied his nose in one blow.

Both Theon and Jon gasped in genuinely shocked awe, both secretly wishing that they had had the pleasure, to be sure. Though, Ser Rodrick had the good sense to look horrified as he stumbled to a stop several feet away from them, no quite sure how to proceed now that she had actually struck the Prince. 

Scrambling away from her in fear, the Prince turned tail and ran, causing Robbie to let out a weary breath - for she knew just who the little prat would be running straight to. It was in that moment, as she watched his golden embellished back grow smaller in the distance, that she realised the full magnitude of her impulsive actions. 

_Fuck, I just punched the crowned prince bloody._

"You shouldn't have done that," Theon said softly, even as his eyes looked upon her with awe and unbridled affection, taking in the fact that she had literally struck a Prince down in defence of him.

"Probably not," she agreed, bumping her shoulder gently against his, before turning her appropriately worried gaze to meet Jon's own, "Come on, let's go see what lies the little shit is no doubt already spewing to his father, shall we?"

"Aye, Little-Wolf," Theon agreed, as he and Jon followed readily behind her as she stomped off towards the Great Hall, where she knew her parents were probably still breaking their fast with the King and Queen, and where the Prince had no doubt ran off towards.

As expected, the little shit was already squealing of her 'abuse' of him, she noted with an eye roll, as she, Jon and Theon entered the Hall. All eyes turned to them, as she strode towards the high-table with her head held high and Theon and Jon's comforting presence at her back. 

"There she is, father, with her bastard brother and brute Ironborn lover!" Joffery exclaimed, fearfully moving to stand beside his mother as Robbie stopped just before the King on the other side of the table, shooting his son a harsh glare as she did so.

"So, tell me, my Northern beauty, did you strike my son, as he says?" The King asked, with thick eyebrows raised more in amusement than hostility, not at all what she had expected to find after striking his son and a Prince.

"Aye, Your Grace, I did," she confirmed, getting a chuckle from the King at her words and a harsh glare from the Queen, as she clutched her son to her chest protectively. "He came upon me and Theon sparring in the training grounds. He insinuated that I had refused his hand in marriage in favour of my supposed lover, calling me a whore and making other slandering remarks about my honour. I was well within my rights to strike him down, Your Grace - had he been anyone else he would have had more than a simple busted lip and a bruised nose to content with."

"Aye, I don't doubt it," the King laughed heartedly, as he eyed the fierce young woman before him, chin raised proudly, as she owned up to her actions with a stiffened back and defiance in her eyes burning brighter than that of even her fire-kissed locks. 

"Robert!" The Queen snapped angrily at her husband, "This little _wretch_ has struck our son - the Crowned Prince! She can not be allowed to get away with such an action unpunished."

"Robert, please," her father addressed the King pleadingly on her behalf, as he stepped up to her side, placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder as he did so, "She was just defending her honour."

"Aye, I believe she was doing just that," the King agreed, followed by a tired sigh, as he promptly halted his wife's attempt at interrupting him with a held-up hand, "But never the less, she _did_ attack the Crowned Prince, Ned - something like that can not go unpunished, my friend."

"I want her lover's head, father!" Joffrey shouted spitefully from beside his mother, holding her lion embellished hanky to his nose, "Her bastard brother's too!"

His word set her father into motion, as he all but planted himself before Jon defensively, hand going unconsciously to the hilt of his sword, an action of which did not go unnoticed by the King. 

"Shut up, boy!" The King shouted back, causing his son to cower back into his mother's side, as he tried to de-escalate a situation that was getting far and farther still out of control, "I am not going to take the head of my dearest friend's son, who has done no wrong. And certainly not that of the only living son and heir of Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, you stupid boy, to take either head would mean to start a war!"

"Then what do you propose to do, Your Grace?" Ned asked worriedly, as he eyed his childhood friend with trepidation, still not lowering his defensive stance before his children, despite the King's declaration of not taking any heads today.

"Five lashes," the King answered, watching regretfully as his dear friend stood before his children protectively, with a protest already upon his parted lips, "Calm yourself, Ned, the Greyjoy boy will take them for her."

"No!" Robbie protested, right as Theon bowed his head readily and said, "As my Grace wishes."

"It is done," the King said with an air of finality, as he stood from his chair at the high table, "Ned, as your charge, the punishment falls to you - I would have this over and done with now if it suits you?"

With a regretfully look at Theon, her father moved to his Ward's side, placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder now instead of his daughter's, "I will see it done, my Grace - but I would like to do so privately, no need to make a spectacle out of all of this."

"As you will, Ned," the King agreed readily, turning to address the room as a whole, his voice rising as he called out to the masses, "Clear the hall!"

Eager to comply with their King's wishes, the room promptly cleared out, leaving only the King, the Queen, Joffrey, the Kingslayer, Robbie, her parents, Jon and Theon still standing. The latter of whom pulled off and shucked his sparring leathers and doublet, before moving to kneel before her father, as his Lord pulled his belt free from his waist. 

Theon knelt proudly, shoulders back, head high, as he met her gaze with what she was sure was meant to be a comforting smile, though it looked more like a grimace to her horrified eyes.

Allowing her impulsiveness to shine through once more, Robbie rushed to place herself between her father and Theon's exposed back as he made to raise his belt. She wrapped herself around Theon from behind, covering his back with her own body, as she breathed heavily into his slightly shaking shoulder. She felt him exhale shuddery, as she held him tighter still, all but ignoring his and Jon's hands, as they attempted to gently untangle her from him.

"Roberta," her father tried to coax gently, when their attempts to remove her failed, "The quicker it is done the quicker it will be over with, my sweet daughter."

"No," she refused, stubbornly shaking her head, as she tightened her hold, "It isn't right! _He_ deserved it - Theon didn't do anything wrong, he didn't even speak to the Prince - if you must punish someone punish me!"

"Little-wolf," Theon spoke to her softly, barely above a whisper, for her ears alone, though she was sure Jon and her father heard his words just fine, "Let me do this, I will be fine, I promise you. You defended me and caused all this, so let me repay the favour, let me do this for you."

"No," she rebuffed thickly, even as she allowed him to gently unwind her arms from around him, gently shoving her off into Jon's waiting hold, who held her from behind with a gentle embrace that she needed to remain standing at that point.

With that cocky half-smirk of his back in place, Theon turned to face her fully, taking her hands in between his cold callous ones, as he lent to place a chaste kiss upon the backs of both of her hands, "Go on, Little-Wolf, there is no reason for you to watch."

Steeling her shaking shoulders, Robbie shrugged off her mother's hand as she tried to pull her from Jon's arms and attempted to get her to leave the hall altogether. Instead, Robbie raised her eyes to defiantly meet Joffrey's gleeful ones, leaning back into Jon's arms to steady herself, all but ignoring her mother's ire at her seeking comfort from the bastard instead of her.

"I'm not going anywhere." And with that said, she turned her Tully blues to meet Theon's proud sea-hued ones, as she unconsciously dug her nails painfully into poor Jon's arms still locked comfortingly around her shaking form. 

With regret and pride in his eyes, as he looked down at the man who he had raised alongside his own children, her father placed a hand upon Theon's shoulder, as he said softly, "Thank you, Theon - I will not forget your actions here today, my boy."

And with that said, he stepped back and raised his belt in five quick and precise strikes, all of which Theon took without even so much more than the barest of flinches, too prideful to allow the King and his retched family to bask in his pain. 

Each hit was like a direct hit to Robbie's soul, so sharp and cutting that she couldn't stand it and wondered just how Theon could. But even still, his stubborn refusal to give Joffrey the satisfaction of seeing him cower, had Robbie feeling pride build within her chest at the man who knelt to bare the strikes willingly _for her_. 

When it was done, Robbie wasted no time breaking Jon's hold, rushing forwards to picking up Theon's side, where she then helped him to his feet, with the aid of Jon. They said nothing, as they led him promptly from the Great Hall, not even bothering to wait for a formal dismissal from the King. But as neither he or her father called out to halt them, she decided to not care, as they led Theon towards Maester Luwin's quarters.

She left it to Jon to be the one to explain what had happened to Theon to the aged Maester, who immediately went about guiding Theon over to a cot, help her settle him down upon it without issue. With him laying down his back, now marred red and bloody in some places, was hard to ignore, and Robbie found she couldn't tear her wet eyes from the horrifying sight.

Jon, thankfully for Theon, was more with it that she presently was, as he readily went to work following Maester Luwin's orders, getting to work on starting a fire to boil some water to clean the wounds properly. While the Maester himself when about fetching one of his numbing pastes and a clean cloth to aid his task.

Robbie, knowing that she'd be little to no help to either of them right now didn't bother to offer a hand, instead, she sat herself down on the floor beside Theon's he'd, trying to give him a comforting smile as he turned his head her way. He no doubts could see the wetness glossing her eyes, but he thankfully kept his mouth firmly closed on the matter, as he offered a hand, obviously more for her comfort than his own.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before even so much as a slight sound could pass between them, Maester Luwin appeared at his side, offering him an uncorked bottle.

"It's milk-of-the-poppy," he explained, with a nod down at the glass bottle pointedly, "Only a drop should do - no more - just enough to stave off the pain while I tend to your wounds."

Theon pushed himself up onto one elbow with a pained grunt, taking the bottle offered with a grateful nod to Maester Luwin, taking a single shallow sip, before handing it back and flopping back down on the cot with another grunt. The effects of the poppy took very little time to take effect, which resulted in Theon blinking blurrily at her, as a dippy smile curved his stupidly handsome face. 

Once all tasked asked of him were done, Jon did not linger, knowing that Theon wouldn't have wanted him her to seem him in such a vulnerable state. Leaving only her and Maester Luwin, who silently went about tending to Theon's wounds, the latter of whom didn't seem to be feeling any pain now at all. That fact alone was the only reason Robbie had managed to push back her angry tears and loosen her crushing grip upon Theon's hand, less she leaves him with any more hurts to wake up with. 

The very next moment, after Maester Luwin had proclaimed himself done, Robbie wasted no time claiming to her feet and promptly curling herself cautiously against Theon's side. Mindful of the wounds upon his back, she pressed her body as close against his own as she could without jolting him, with her face curled in close to his own face. His eyes were now closed, having fallen asleep soon after Maester Luwin started applying the paste to the five long lashes that now marked his once flawless back.

Maester Luwin had, as expected, argued against such an action in-favour of maintaining propriety and her honour should anyone who was not family happen to see them curled together before he left them to it, but Robbie had ignored his pestering until he had relented with a tired sigh. She didn't care what anyone might think upon spying her wrapped around Theon in such an improper way, not right now, not after what he had just done for her. And besides, the whole of Winterfell knew of their friendship for one another, most suspected more so, of the feelings she and Theon vainly attempted to hide, even from one another. 

Maybe . . . _maybe_ she should just let Theon take her maiden-head, dishonour enough so no other man would ever want her, let alone to marry her. But just as the thought fleeted into her mind it turned around and fleeted right back out again - she couldn't do it. Her mother would never forgive her and father would have to take Theon's head on priceable.

"You're thinking too much, Little-Wolf," Theon's deep voice spoke thickly, startling her from her internal musings and hopelessness.

"Well, of course, I am," she sniffed softly, pulling back from him so she could lean up onto her elbow to look down at his face still turned towards her, with his eyes blinking open slowly, "I have to think for the both of us, which takes more than a little effort on my part, I'll have you know."

"Ha, ha, ha," he mocks a laugh, as he smiled up at her, with his eyes tracing the dried tear stains trekking down her cheeks she hadn't realised were there at all, tears she would never admit to ever having had let fall, to begin with. "It is done, Robbie, and I am fine."

"It shouldn't have been _done_ at all," she snapped back sharply in frustration, as she lay back down beside him, with her nose just shy of brushing his own, "I should have hit that little shit harder when I had the chance."

Bumping his nose against hers briefly, the sole amount of movement he was capable of at the moment, Theon chuckled tiredly, "Aye, you probably should have, he could do with losing a few teeth if you ask me."

"That vile little beast is going to be married to my sister," she stated heavily, tears brimming once again in her Tully-blues, of which he was kind enough not to comment on, as he rubbed his nose gently against hers once again. "He will not be kind to her, I know it, he's going to hurt her."

"Aye, most probably, he will," Theon agreed, not bothering to lie to her to spare her feelings, which was something he had thankfully never done in regards to her, "He seems like the sort."

"How am I supposed to just let her marry him knowing that?"

"How are you supposed to stop her?" Theon countered, "He will be King, his word his law, and Sansa will not be deterred from her beloved Prince no matter how candid you are with her about the true nature of the Prince. It is a hard lesson she will have to learn on her own, this is not something you can spare from, Little-Wolf."

"If I find out that he has hurt her . . . even _one_ time . . ." she breathed out deeply, meeting his eyes head-on, hearing his words but known that she'd try to spare her sister regardless of the odds, "I'll call all of my bannermen and march South to bring her home, I swear it by the gods, Theon."

"Aye, and I'll be right there at your side," he promised readily, honesty shining in his eyes, as he smiled cockily back at her relieved looking one, "I'll bring my Ironborn's to attack from the sea, while you and yours attack from the land, they'll stand no chance against the both of our joint might."

"Promise?" She breathed in question against his face, despite knowing just how improbable that outcome would be, the Ironborn fighting alongside the Northmen . . . it would be more likely to set eyes upon a fabled White Walker than such a sight honestly.

"I promise," he agreed anyway, eyes earnest and so close that Robbie could see and note every fleck of silvery-grey in the blue-green of his eyes. 

Before anything more could be said on the matter, the door to the Maester's chambers was flung open with a loud resounding bang, startling both her and Theon. At first, upon spying her parents and the guards now crowding their way into the rooms, Robbie feared that they were here for her, that Maester Luwin had told them of how she was laying so improperly with Theon currently.

But they paid her no mind, in fact, they didn't even look her way, too focused on the small form being carried into the rooms by the guards. Her heart stuttered to a painful stop as she spied Summer whining about their feet, giving away the identity of the small form now being place carefully upon one of the cots. 

Bran.

She all but threw herself up off the bot she lay upon, with Theon groaning in pain as he did the same, only mores lowly. Both worriedly coming to the edge of the crowd to find out what had happened to her little brother, who lay unmoving and unconscious upon the furs of the cot, covered in blood and already bruising on every hint of flesh that she could see. 

"Mother . . ." she breathed out shakily, fear and worry seizing her unsteady heart, as her mother's face snapped to meet her own, eyes wide, wet and red-rimmed, "What has happened?"

"He fell," her mother sobbed out, head falling to bury into her hands, as her husband and the aged maester went about gently disrobing Bran's broken form, "I told him a hundred times! He _never_ listens . . . he fell . . . oh, my poor baby . . . "

Robbie was distantly aware of Theon making his way to her side, of his hand taking hers into his own, even of the grave words of Maester Luwin, as he went about assessing her little brother's equally grave injuries. And yet, she could do very little but stand there and present herself as a silent witness, praying with every beat of her heart for the Gods, the old and the new, to spare her little brother's life. 

"Please, don't take him . . ." her silent whisper to the Gods could be heard only by her dearest friend, as his hand tightened upon her own, as he spoke his similarly silent prays to his own God.


	3. Chapter Three ~ Bran the Broken

**_Winterfell, Family Wing_**

* * *

**A** s a boy of a meer ten years, Robbie really shouldn't have found her little brother's small stature to be so surprising, in fact, he was actually rather tall compared to most boys his age. And yet, as he lay tucked and unmoving upon his childhood bed, his size was proving too distracting for her to ignore. He just looked so impossibly small and fragile, as if even the chastest of kisses upon his sweat-damp forehead could break that which was left unbroken by his _supposed_ fall, which was why they were all too scared to touch him for that reason alone.

Robbie didn't by it though, that he fell at all, there had to be some other logical reason because Bran _never_ fell, no matter how high the boy had dared to reach towards the stars. And yet, now they would have her believe that he had put his usually sure-footed feet wrong? No, she refused to buy it at all. But expressing her concerns presently would not be welcome, she knew that better than she knew the sun would rise upon the morrow, at least not while grief and so much uncertainty hung in the air around them all. 

It had been, quite possibly, the longest night of Robbie's life, one that had found her and her siblings huddled together on a nest of furs outside of the Maester's chambers, none allowed in and all unwilling to leave without news. Even Jon and Theon had both been there, though when morning did finally come, neither of them had been allowed in to visit alongside the Stark children, not even when Bran had finally been moved to his own chambers. 

Which brought her to be sitting at the bedside of her little brother's bed now, his limp hand held tight in her own, as she tried to block out the soft crying of her mother as she weaved her prayer wheel. In another light, it could have been easy to forget the reason he was lying there, had her family not all been crammed weepingly about the room, because he looked surprisingly peaceful, despite the many bruises marring his pale face and arms. 

"Will he ever wake?" Robbie dared to ask the question that they were all secretly wondering of Maester Luwin.

The old man, who had helped pull all of the Stark children into this world, sighed tiredly, as he tenderly stroked Bran's sweat matted fringe back from his face, "Only time will tell - we can do nothing now but trust in the Gods, I'm afraid."

At that, her mother wailed brokenly, a loud and shattering sound that felt like glass to Robbie's soul, as she watched her mother fall into the side of her husband, who moved to hold her readily. Her mother wasn't the only inconsolable one, at least not if the little sniffles Robbie could hear coming from behind her were anything to go on. Her father didn't look to be fairing any better either, as he eyed his son's eerily still form with tired and fearful eyes, a look of which Robbie had never before seen him wear.

Unable to bear the pain of watching her parents fall to pieces right in front of her, Robbie stood shakily from her place beside Bran's other bedside, leaning down to place a lingering kiss upon his forehead soon after. Ever-so gently her chapped lips pressed against his feverish flesh, with brimming eyes closed tightly against her own grief, causing her long lashes to dust like fluttering wings against the damp locks of hair matted there. 

She stepped back with great reluctance, chin unsteady and tears now falling soundlessly, as she finally turned to face her two sisters. Who she spied - for once - standing companionly beside one another, without even so much of a hint of hostility towards each other. It was a first, to be sure, and Robbie couldn't help the half-hearted smile that twitched at her lips at the beautiful sight they made together.

"Come now, sisters," she prompted them softly, startling their grief-stricken eyes from Bran's broken form and over to her, "Go give our brother a kiss goodbye, you'll do him no good standing there like two weepy book-ends."

Arya was the first to move, prompting Sansa to follow soon after, as they silently stepped up to Bran's bedside. Arya carefully lent over, obviously of the same mind as Robbie was, irrationally worried that she actually just might accidentally hurt him farther with a mere kiss. One that lingered, with her tears hitting with soundless little splats against Bran's cheek, where they rolled down, almost looking as if they were of his own making.

Being so close in age, much like Robbie and Jon, Arya and Bran had spent most of their time together growing up. Even while they admittedly weren't each other's self-proclaimed favourites: what with Jon being Arya's and Robbie herself being Bran's, they were still undeniably close. So honestly, Robbie wasn't surprised to see just how wrecked by this unfortunate turn of events Arya actually was, sobs coming near uncontrollable, as she pulled back with a hiccuped and a wet sniffle. Climbing down off of the bed, she didn't look back to their brother as she came to stand at Robbie's side, taking her hand into her much smaller one.

Sansa moved to take Arya's place beside Bran immediately after, with only slightly more composure, though no less concerned or heartbroken. She placing a feather-light kiss upon his cheek also, her own teardrops falling to join Arya's upon his cheek, before moving to take Robbie's other hand. A hand of which shook in Robbie's own, prompting her to give both her sisters smaller hands a comforting squeeze before she flicked her tired eyes back towards her brother, unconsciously meeting her father's own instead when she unsurprisingly found Bran's still very much closed to the world around him. 

With a grateful and pitifully weak smile from her father, one that damn near threatened to rip what was left of her wounded heart to pieces, Robbie motioned the girls out of the room. Unable to bear to hear her mother's cries or to see that heartbreaking look upon her father's face any longer, Robbie followed right after them, refusing to look back as she heard her mother's cries grow all the more sorrowful now that it was just her and her husband sitting vigil.

Robbie had no real destination in mind, only the determination to get them as far from that room and all of the sadness that filled it as she possibly could - no child should ever have to hear their mother sobbing so heartbreakingly so. The twists and turns of Winterfell found them outside, where the chilly air of first mornings light filled their lungs, giving them all a cleansing breath that was sorely needed. 

_Gods . . . had it really only been a day since they found him lying broken at the base of the equally Broken Tower?_

None in the castle had gotten any sleep last night, no doubt, not even the royal visitors, probably kept half-awake all night by her mother's unchecked wailing. No one had said it plainly, but the truth was, they were all surprised Bran had survived that fall at all, his body . . . it was so battered and broken . . . it was a miracle to be sure. 

The Gods had, without a doubt, blessed them. Which was why Robbie found herself smiling softly as the Gods Woods came up before them, looking welcoming and more peaceful than it had a right to, in a time that was proving to be so uncertain and sorrowful. 

"Let us take a walk through the Gods Woods, sisters," Robbie suggested with as much lightness as she could manage muster, already leading the girls into the treeline, "We should thank them properly for sparing our brother's life." 

Arya nodded in ready agreement, while Sansa did very little but clenched her jaw in silent protest, having been of the same mind as their mother, that the one true gods were those of The Seven. She no doubts would have much preferred to give her thanks in their mother's Sept, the one their far too kind-hearted father had built for her, a Sept that had no place in the North.

It was an unintentional affront to North as a people and the Gods of Old that they worshipped. An offence that Robbie and all her fellow Northmen knew her father had not made to be such, he had just wanted to please his wife, he could not see the consequences of his actions until it was already too late. From the very moment that the first stone had been laid for the erection of that Sept Ned Stark had cemented the truth that his wife would never fully embrace the North. It was why now, even all these many years and five Northern children later, Catelyn Stark was still an outsider in her own home.

Robbie led them right into the heart of the woods, far enough to put some much-needed distance between them and the horrible reality that face them back at the castle. Taking a seat on the ground at the base of the largest heart tree that overlooked all the overs, with her head now leaning tiredly back on the rough bark just below it's haunting-carved-face, she gently pulled Arya and Sansa down on either side of her. She could tell by Sansa's pinched face that she was _far_ from pleased to be sitting upon the ground like some commoner, but the girl thankfully bit her tongue for once, letting them all bask in a moment of silent companionship. 

"Is Bran going to die, Robbie?" Arya asked softly after a few moments pass them by with only the wind dancing between the trees being the sound heard. She looked up at Robbie with large, innocent and wet eyes so unlike her usual defiant and fire-driven ones, not even bothering to pretend to be tough in the wake of her fear.

"Of course he's not, he's a _Stark_ , and we're notoriously hard to kill."

That got a wet chuckle from the raven-haired girl, as she let her head fall comfortably back against Robbie's side, finding contentment in her older sister's reassurances. Sansa, however . . . not so much. She turned to face Robbie sharply, a deep and disapproving frown creasing between her delicate brows, as anger burning just beneath the surface of her Tully blues.

"You don't _know_ that," she snapped harshly, blinking a fresh wave of tears away, as she stroked shaking hands down the front of her dress in an attempt to collect herself, "You shouldn't make her promise you can not keep - It's _cruel_."

"No," Robbie denied, shaking her head softly, looking sadly down at her little sister who could not see the cruelty in her own actions, "What _is_ cruel is robbing her of hope when there is no need to do so. Bran is strong, he will pull through this, Sansa - but it will take some time, just as Maester Luwin has already said."

Sansa didn't argue back, though she very much looked as if she wanted too, however, Robbie's pointed-look down at Arya was an enough to halt her tongue. The youngest female Stark had finally stopped her tears, and not even Sansa was spiteful enough in her dislike of her little sister to take her moment of peace from her, much to Robbie's genuine and thankful surprise.

It's not that Sansa was woefully mean, she was just always trying to emulate their mother's example of a "proper lady" from the southern courts, forgetting that she wasn't in the southern courts at all. Her devotion to the traditional, refined "feminine virtues" was what caused the friction between her and their blunt, tomboyish sisters, the youngest of whom she had an ongoing sibling rivalry that bordered on being a basis for mortal enemies. Truth be told, Sansa didn't much approve of Robbie either, but as she was her elder the girl knew to hold her tongue. Well . . . in _most_ cases she did.

"Look, it's the bastard, what do you suppose he wants?" Sansa muttered softly, as she spied Jon's form first, trekking his way towards them through the Gods Wood.

Turning to face her sister so sharply that she hit her other sister in the face with the whip of her thick braid, Robbie grabbed the younger girl's chin in hand, forcefully turning her to meet Robbie's now enraged gaze head-on. She could see the surprise clear as day in her equally blue Tully eyes, as she clearly was at a loss as to what she had done to anger her sister so suddenly. It only fanned the fire now burning inside Robbie's heart, that she truly didn't understand the hurt her words would cause Jon should he hear them, or she should say . . . their _mother's_ words. 

" _Never_ call him _that_ again," Robbie ordered harshly, "He is our _brother_ , name be damned, and if I ever hear you call him by such a name again I will tan your hide myself - are we clear, little sister?"

Releasing her chin only after she nodded fearfully up at Robbie, did Robbie stand, prompting both of her sisters up with her. Arya didn't need much encouragement, shooting Sansa a dark look, before she jumped up with a cry of "Jon!", all but throwing herself into his waiting arms, rousing a soft chuckle from the dark-haired boy. 

"I came to check up on you all," he explained, as he moved Arya to rest upon his hip comfortably, despite her being far too old for such a hold, not that that truth seemed to both either of them presently, "And to ask how Bran is fairing. Your mother . . . Well, I haven't been allowed in to see him, and I just . . . I _need_ to know that he's alright."

"He is stable for now, Jon," Robbie answered sadly, placing a hand upon his arm comfortingly, seeing the relief flood into his expressive eyes without restraint at her words, "Maester Luwin says he's done all he can - that it's up to Bran now."

"He'll be alright," Jon reassured readily, smiling down at Arya, who now cuddled snuggly against his shoulder happily, looking far younger than she truly was in that moment, "You Stark's are hard to kill."

"That's what Robbie said too," Arya nodded in agreement, puffing her chest up proudly, getting a small chuckle from Jon at the sight she made.

"Care to join us for a while, brother?" Robbie asked of him, motioning pointedly to the heart tree they had all just recently been settled below, "We can all thank the Gods together for their blessing of our dear little brother's continued survival - I think father would like that, don't you?"

Jon sent her a gentle look, before he placed a tender kiss upon the top of Arya's head, pointedly not looking Sansa's way. The girl had been nothing but spiteful whenever she had spotted 'the bastard' doing such, claiming his looks to be lecherous when really they were all motivated by longing sadness - but truthfully, he wanted his sister's love, that was all. Nothing as disgusting as Sansa and their mother had dared to insinuate, Jon was a good man and would rather gild himself than ever entertain such ideas of thinking of one of his sisters in such a vulgar way, which was why their father had put those cruel words to rest soundly soon after. But the damage had already been done and now Jon was too afraid to even look at his spiteful little sister.

"Aye," he agreed with a sullen smile that didn't even attempt to reach his eyes, eyes so dark a grey they looked almost black in certain lighting, "Let us thank the Gods for their kindness and pray they continue to be so."

And with that said, Robbie sat back down in her spot, with Sansa taking one side of her quite reluctantly, looking back towards the path that would lead to the castle longingly, while Jon took Robbie's other side, with Arya settled comfortably upon his lap. Much like their father, the Stark children who actually bothered to converse with their Gods did so silently, in the privacy of their own heads, knowing that their voices would be heard all the same. 

That was how Theon found them several hours later, with the setting sun warmly dancing light between the treetops in pretty and uncoordinated patterns upon the ground of the small clearing they were all nestled in. By his relieved breath, as his eyes met her own, he had no doubt been looking for them - or just _her_ most probably - for quite some time. 

He had probably only heard whatever whispered half-truths and rumours the servants had to content themselves with in regards to Bran and his condition, for she very much doubted her parents had left his bedside to inform their Ward of their son's precarious condition. Which was why he no doubts looked as worried as he currently did, Robbie mussed, as she watched him try and assess her's and her siblings own level of worry for some hope to appease his own. 

He liked to pretend that he didn't care, but Robbie knew that he secretly did. Not just about her, but about them all, even her father, who she knew he lived in fear of one day losing his head because of. It was the main reason why he was always so conflicted, they were his jailors in a sense, and yet he loved them all - he loved _her -_ the daughter of his one-day-maybe executioner. He'd deny it if anyone dared to boldly ask, but Robbie _knew_ the truth of it, he spoke more truth with those beautiful sea-hued eyes of his than his fowl mouth ever could. It was also one of the many reasons that she loved him back in kind.

Climbing to her feet, not even bothering to dust off the dirt that had surly gathered upon her behind from sitting on the ground for the gods only know how long, Robbie crossed to stand before him. She didn't stop until she was flush against his comfortingly strong body, a position that she knew most probably had Sansa spitting mad about the improperness of it all, not that Robbie could bring herself to care in that moment.

She had spent all night and the better part of today making sure that her little sisters were well taken care of, comforted as much as they possibly could be given the situation. But now . . . well, Robbie was the one that needed a little comfort of her own. Which was why she did not hesitate as she usually would have, to press her face deep into the crook of Theon's neck, with her arms winding tightly about his broad shoulders, all but merging both of their bodies into one.

He did not hesitate to hold her right back, not that she truly feared that he ever would have, arms wrapping readily about her emotionally exhausted form. Despite how her arms resting upon his shoulders should have hurt the lashes he had gotten in her honour just the day before, Theon showed no sign of pain or any intention of letting her go any time soon. She mentally thanked him for it, because for the first time since she had realised that the small form being carried into Maester Luwin's chambers was her little brother Robbie felt centred, because she _knew_ that if she were to waver . . . Theon would be her to keep her steady once more. 

"I have you, Little-Wolf," he spoke just for her, a mere breath against the side of her head, not giving her false promises of Bran's health, but a simple promise all of his own.

"Maester Luwin says he has done all he can," Robbie informed against his neck, not bothering to pull away, as she finally let him know what was going on, "We just have to wait and see now . . . but Bran is strong, he is going to live, I _know_ it in my bones."

Theon's body relaxed completely against her in relief at her words, placing a daring kiss upon the side of her head, of which Sansa would no doubt report on back to their mother at her first given chance. But Robbie could not seem to care what anyone had to say about their improper actions presently, she needed him and he was more than willing to be here for her, and that was all that mattered. So fuck the unsolicited opinions of others, their judgemental Southern ways, and the wagon they rode in on. 

"Aye, your little brother is a tough one, I have no doubts that he will pull through," Theon agreed confidently, rubbing his large hand up and down the expanse of her back freely, "You Starks are hard to kill."

His words drew her back from his embrace, as she just stared at him for a long drawn out moment of surprise, with a stupified expression upon her pale face that was far from flattering. All before flicking amused eyes over her shoulder to her siblings, all of whom looked just as amused by Theon's unknowingly similar statement as she currently found herself. Her sudden and out of place laugh escaped her without any conscious thought on her part, starting small and uncertain before building, sounding out loudly and unchecked about the clearing. Her body folded over with it, face now pressed against Theon's hard chest as her shoulders shook, with her siblings' laughter matching her own, leaving Theon more than a little confused.

"What?" He wondered aloud, frowning down at the top of her copper head, before sending searching looks over to her equally amused siblings, even Sansa let out a chortle or two, "What is it . . . what did I say?"

Even though he did not understand and none of them could catch their breaths long enough to explain it to him, he smiled down at her regardless, happy to have put a smile upon her face in the wake of such sorrow, even if he hadn't exactly been trying to do so. 

"Well, when you're all finally ready to pull yourselves together, Jory sent me to fetch you for dinner, you all missed it yesterday and he says you're not to do so again today - your father's orders."

That sobered them, now abruptly reminded of exactly why they had all missed supper last night and just why their bellies were now all growling in protest, with their hunger being brought to the forefront of their minds. No, there would be no missing dinner tonight, though she didn't imagine they would find their parents joining them. But she didn't let herself worry about them too, knowing that Maester Luwin would make sure they would at least eat something, no matter how small.

They made the journey back to the castle together, with Robbie and Theon leading them, her arm hooked through his own. The innocent action ruffled Sansa's feathers, Robbie could see that as clear as day on her pretty pinched face, though she thankfully did elect to keep her mouth closed on the matter.

Arya, however, paid little to no mind to them or the supposed improperness of their closeness, but she was young still and did not know enough to question them about it, as Sansa was no doubt bitting at the bit to do so. But even with that being said, Robbie was sure that, even if she had understood, her wild little sister honestly wouldn't have given two fucks about who's arm Robbie wanted to hold or not. 

Jon, however, he eyed them worriedly, not because he thought they were doing anything wrong, of course, she knew that. He was always giving them time alone together when everyone else thought he was actually chaperoning them; if only because he knew, despite the feelings they had for one another, that they would _never_ cross that line. No, his worry came from knowing his sister, the one who was basically as his twin and best friend, would end up with a broken heart one day regardless of all their efforts.

They talked about it a lot actually, the fact that one day soon she will have to marry someone who _isn't_ Theon, and about how the closer they let themselves get to each other the more it was inevitably going to hurt her. And Jon . . . well, he was a good brother and friend, who didn't want that to happen to her on his watch. But _that_ particular worry was already a raven that had long since taken to the skies, there would be no calling back her feelings any more than there was Theon's. 

So with a pitting look sent their way, Jon took Arya's hand into his own, careful not to look in Sansa's direction, as she walked silently on Arya's other side. The three of them followed along behind her and Theon, no words exchanged between any of them, but all taking comfort in the silent companionship of shared grief. 

Everyone they passed either nodded in greeting to them or verbally offered their condolences and well-wishes, proclaiming Bran to be in their prayers, which was actually a comfort to Robbie, to know that their people actually cared. Plus, Bran could use all the prayers he can get, she wasn't going to take the freely offered ones of her people for granted. 

The Queen's well-wishes however rung hollow, from her seat at the high-table, voice carrying throughout the Great Hall in a purposeful move on her part. She wanted to show the people that she was a Queen that cared, despite how obvious it was to all that she really didn't, an act that would have been more believable had her lips not oh-so-subtly curled up at the end of her little speech. 

The King's condolences were admittedly more sincere, though it was easy to tell that he didn't actually care whether Bran lived or died, only for how it was all affecting her father. Say what you please about the fat, whore-mongering, drunk of a King . . . he loved Ned Stark unwaveringly. It was only when he was talking at ease with her father that Robbie could even see a small glimpse of that fabled King Robert from her bedtime stories, the one who slew dragon princes and sunk the ships of Ironborne raiders. 

Prince Joffrey didn't even try to hide his smirk as he took note of her red-rimmed eyes, as she stood before the high-table, while Theon and her siblings found their usual spots among the masses. She wanted desperately to join them but knew how it would look to her people, to have not even _one_ Stark sat up at their own high-table, of which was currently dominated entirely by Southerners.

"Your Grace," she addressed the King, pointedly ignoring the Queen and her vile son, as she curtsied, before standing proudly, with her hands clasped at the base of her back. "I would ask you permission to sit in my Lord father's seat, as his Heir, it is my right."

It ruffled her feathers something fierce to have to ask for permission to sit in her own family's seat; but she knew there would be no other way to un-seat the Prince from it otherwise, leaving him to lounge disrespectfully unchecked, with his nails scratching idly at the Direwolf carved in the wood of the chair-arm. 

"Of course, my lady," the King readily agreed, motioning with fat fingers for his son to move, fingers of which glimmered in the candle-light with grease from the chicken leg he had been devouring before she had interrupted him, "It would be my honour to dine beside you."

"Father!" The Prince exclaimed in protest, face contorted into embarrassed outrage, as he finally sat up in her father's seat, though he made no move to leave it yet. "Mother, make _her_ sit somewhere else!"

" _Robert_ ," the Queen started out through gritted teeth, eyes burning like wild-fire, "Surely, lady Roberta can find somewhere else to sup since _your_ son is already situated here, my love."

"It is her right, woman," the King snapped back grumpily, rolling his eyes at his whinny son, who looked a few seconds from crying he was so red in the face. "She is the Heir of this damn castle, and in her father's absence, the Lord seat is hers to claim as such - _move_ , boy, don't make me tell you again!"

With a nod in thanks to the King, who looked far too proud of himself - you'd think he'd saved a fair maiden from a Wildling instead of just emptying her seat of the shit sitting upon it - Robbie skirted around to the other side of the table. The shit in question stumped past her like a small child having a tantrum, with his bony shoulder hitting hard into her own. He had hoped to knock her off balance, no doubt, but given her many hours spent daily in the training yard under Ser Rodrick's teachings, Robbie was stronger than his pampered arse and didn't even budge so-much as half an inch because of his brutish efforts.

Robbie just smiled back in kind, knowing that she was playing with fire, and yet she couldn't seem to help herself, not while knowing that she had won this round of the Game. It was bittersweet, she didn't want to play any kind of 'game' with these people at all, she just wanted them to _leave_ her home already. But that would mean, the moment they left, so would her father be leaving too. And she wasn't quite ready to step into his shoes just yet, she still had so much to learn, they had only just started going over the upcoming Winter intake of grain - this was _not_ the time for him to be heading down south - as her father is so fond of saying: _Winter is coming_.

But as she looked out at her people from her place upon the high-table, Robbie caught a glimpse of what her future as ruler of the North would look like, and more importantly, the prideful-looks her people were shooting back at her as she claimed her rightful seat from an obnoxious southern Prince. Because the North remembers, and they _all_ believed that the only arse that should be sitting at the head of Winterfell's high-table was that of a Stark, as it has been so for the last eight thousand years. 

A heavy and long legacy to live up to if there ever was one.


	4. Chapter Four ~ Bittersweet Goodbyes

**_Winterfell, Courtyard_ **

* * *

**I** n seemingly no time at all, two sennights passed them by, meaning the southern party had all been forced to linger seven full and painfully long days more than had originally been intended. Due to the fact that her father had adamantly refused to leave until he knew whether Bran would wake, but as time passed them by with no clear sigh of that hope happening anytime soon, he could not put off the inevitable any longer. 

The King's patience had been wearing thinner than his wife's dainty waist with every day added to their stay, no doubt the reason for that being he had fucked his way through every willing serving girl and whore to be found, and nearly drunk Winterfell out of all their good ale stores. So, to put it quite plainly, the King wasn't the only one in the North that wanted him to leave by this point, with most of the castle's occupants honestly fearing for their winter stores of ale should his stay linger for very much longer.

Which was why, with a heavy heart, Robbie hadn't been too surprised by her father's announcement a few days past, that he was to leave today at first light. But even with those two days to mentally prepare herself, she still didn't feel ready now to become the acting Lady of Winterfell, not alone, without even her mother to lean on.

As cruel as it was to say, Lady Stark was all but useless of late, solemnly ever leaving her vigil at Bran's bedside. Robbie understood, or at least she tried as much as she was able to do so, but even still, she could not understand what sitting there weaving her prayer wheels was doing to help anyone. Especially not little Rickon, who had been attached to Robbie like a far smaller shadow, understandably confused and afraid by what was going on around him, but too young yet to understand what it all meant. 

So, it was no surprise to her or anyone else really, that his hand was tucked tightly into her own now, as she walked through the courtyard besides Jon. Trying vainly to steel up against her own heartache long enough to wish their brother a proper goodbye. He carried his horse's saddle upon his shoulder, with determination in his stride, and the fire of Stark blood in his eyes. And a little part of Robbie, a part she would _never_ admit to ever being there at all, resented him for it - for leaving her and their family oh-so willingly.

Gods, she hated how much she was going to miss his dower face; the stupid curls he had let her practice her braiding skills on as a little girl; and those damn morse, dark grey eyes of his, that would light up whenever anyone would mention just how Stark he was in looks. But most of all, Robbie knew she'd miss _him_ : she'd miss the sweet boy who endured Theon's unkind presence just so he could continue to share hers, someone who knew her better than even she knew herself, a person so dear to her that it felt like she was cutting away a limb as she watched him prepare a horse to take him away from her forever.

_I will not begrudge him taking the reins of his own happiness_ , Robbie vowed silently to herself, even as she had to squeeze her hand uncomfortably tight upon poor little Rickon's just to ground herself. To stop herself from knocking that dame saddle from Jon's grasp and demanding he stay.

"Have you said goodbye to Bran, yet?" She asked curtly, trying in vain to start some line of dialogue between them, no matter how weak it felt to her own ears, "He's not going to die. I _know_ it."

It was a sentiment she was seemingly forever repeating of late, vowing to anyone who broached a conversation about Bran with her, that he wouldn't be dying anytime soon. Because honestly, it felt like everyone around her was already writing him off, that they were all just waiting for the inevitable to come, thinking that his death would be a mercy in the end. Robbie did not agree, cripple or not, Bran was a Stark and a Stark did not go swiftly into the long night. 

"You Starks are hard to kill," Jon agreed with a half-smile, repeating the phrase they had both individually imparted upon Arya that day in the Gods Woods, the same one Theon had unknowingly repeated back to her.

She couldn't help but smile to herself as she recalled those words, at least until Jon came to a stop before his horse, that is, placing his saddle upon a wooden post beside the great beast. It was a smile that didn't last for very long, not many of hers did nowadays, as she watched Jon take to his knee before Rickon. Placing a large hand upon the smaller boy's shoulder, Jon tried for his own smile, eyes raking attentively across their little brother's pouting face, almost as if he was trying to sketch every microscopic detail into his mind for safekeeping. 

"You won't forget me, will you, little brother?" Jon finally spoke, voice thick and eyes heavy as they bore with desperate worry into Rickon's own.

"I _won't -_ I promise, Jon," Rickon insisted upon a sniffle, bottom lip trembling, as his little body rocked forward towards Jon still kneeling form, "I _promise_."

Sighing around a more genuine smile, Jon pulled their little brother tightly into his arms, standing up with him clutched against his chest, as he breathed him in for one final time. With his face pressed against the side of Rickon's head, Jon placed a lingering kiss there, jaw clenched and eyes closed tight against the wetness building there. He knew, just as Robbie did, that given Rickon's age, the likelihood of him actually keeping that promise was not a favourable one. One's memory is a fickle thing, and sometimes no matter how hard we try to hold on to the little things, they still manage to slip away regardless. 

"I'm going to hold you to that promise," Jon chuckled thickly, as he placed Rickon back down to his feet with an affectionate ruffle to his Tully curls, "Now, go bid father goodbye, little brother - you wouldn't want him to leave without it, would you?" 

With one last pounce of a hug, Rickon did as was asked of him, rushing off as if he truly did fear their father leaving without bidding him goodbye first. Silly boy, their father would never leave without at least making the time to wish them all farewell individually first. As he had with her upon starting his morning, first thing, before she had even managed to change from her bedclothes, he came to say goodbye and give her some much-needed words of advice. 

It had been hard, for both of them, with neither able to deny their tears for once. She had tried to get him to see reason one last time, to understand just how ridiculous it was that he was leaving _now_ , with only a few years of them being shy from winter. But most importantly, because she _needed_ him, and Robbie honestly didn't think that she'd ever stop - the same could be said for Jon, another good man she'd have to learn to do without, much to her hearts protests on the matter.

"He has a little more colour in his cheeks, don't you think?" Robbie suddenly asked, trying to distract herself and Jon from the inevitable goodbye brewing between them, "Bran, I mean, he's looking much better."

"Aye, there was a little more colour to be found when I went to say my goodbyes," he agreed if only to appease her, his smile purely for her benefit she was sure, as his sad eyes locked with her own, "I'd wager he'll be awake before I even make it to the Wall."

"And my mother?" Robbie wondered, knowing that her mother probably didn't even have the good grace to leave Jon to share his goodbyes with Bran alone, she was _that_ vindictive and petty in her hate of her husband's bastard. 

Seven hells, if she could find a way to blame Jon for this whole unpleasantness, Robbie was sure that she would have already. Her hate bordered on just shy of being completely irrational at times, and right now . . . well, it was most definitely one of _those_ times, with the lack of sleep and her grief stealing all semblance of the self-restraint that she possessed. 

"She was very kind," Jon said evenly, as he threw his saddle over his horse's back, pointedly not meeting Robbie's knowing gaze as he did so.

"I'm _sure_ she was," Robbie shot back just as evenly, not even trying to hide her disbelief at such an obvious lie. Her mother was never kind to Jon, not even Bran laid up between them would make a difference. In fact, Robbie wagered it would have only made her poor treatment of Jon all the worse for it. 

"Next time I see you, you'll be all in black," she joked half-heartedly, as she at least attempted to smile at her brother, though she couldn't quite hide the sadness in her eyes from him.

"It was always my colour," Jon offered with a light shrug and a sad little smile of his own.

A moment of heavy silence hung between them, as the reality of their parting become all too imminent, something that neither party was quite ready for. No matter what her mother said on the matter, Jon was her brother, for being even half a Stark he was _still_ a Stark. They had grown, played, fought, and laughed together as siblings - so how could Robbie possibly make a distinction between Jon and her other siblings now? After _all_ of that - it just wasn't a conceivable possibility in her mind or heart.

"Farewell, brother," she finally breathed out shakily, soft and barely-there, with her voice growing as thick as tar in her throat.

"And you, sister," Jon returned equally as soft and emotion riddled, with a faint twist of his trademark sullen smile coming to his lips at the corners.

With a trembling chin, Robbie flung herself at him, knocking him back into the side of his horse and all but crushing him in a tight embrace. He held her back just as tightly that it actually hurt, in more ways than one, but in a good hurt - this was to be their last embrace for quite some time, _years_ , even. And Gods, if that reminder didn't bring tears to her eyes now. She pulled back only when she knew she wouldn't be able to just blink them away, sparing him one last look, before she turned and walked briskly away from him without even a single look back.

She had made it a point, many years ago, never to cry in public, at least where the menfolk could witness it. She knew Jon understood, for they had more in common than just their Stark blood, he was a bastard and she was a woman. Two beings that garnered far less respect than your average man in their world. She had worked _so_ damn _hard_ to garner the respect of her peers, having had to literally knock them all back on their arses at least once, some stubborn ones more so. Seeing her cry now, no matter how reasonable her tears would be, would just undo all of the hard work she had made, to show them that she wasn't just some silly little girl playing dress-up with a sword in her hand.

Hoping against all hope that no one took too much notice of the tears painting their way down her flushed cheeks, Robbie made her way towards the south gate of the castle. Pointedly turning her face away from the two guards stationed upon the battlements facing out onto the King's Road, Robbie climbed the stairs past them. Ignoring the hustle and bustle of her Father and his men preparing themselves to leave with the King and his people behind her, Robbie turned instead to take in the great rolling lands of the North before her with a deep sigh, letting the light breeze dry her cheeks.

After clearing the gates with his own men, following along behind the King and his own large group, her father turned to look back at her one last time, somehow knowing exactly where she would be. With his heart in his eyes, breaking with every long second that passed between them, he finally turned away. Jon looked back too, briefly, parting with a wave and a smile that she knew would be carved forever in her memory. 

Instead of watching their backs go smaller in the distance, Robbie fixed her eyes farther out still, taking in the North for as far and wide as the eye could see. Castle Cerwyn, the seat of House Cerwyn, located near a tributary south of Winterfell, was easy to spot from her chosen spot. But it wasn't the keep that kept her attention, no - Robbie found her Tully blues settling upon the three remaining towers of Moat Cailin, little more than small dots, so far off into the distance that she actually had to squint to see them. 

She had wondered often why her father had never bothered himself with the notion of repairing the ancient ruins, making it liveable again, especially given just how important it was to the North as a whole. Once a great stronghold, with twenty towers, a wooden keep of its own, and a great basalt curtain wall as high as that of Winterfell's own - it was an effective natural chokepoint which has protected the north from southron invasion for thousands of years. But her father had just smiled down at her softly, calloused hand stroking gently down the side of her face, as he tried to set whatever worries she had at ease.

"It may not be pretty any longer, but it still does it's job, my sweet summer child," he had assured her gently, "Not that it'll be needed any time soon, rest assured, we are living in a time of peace."

_But for how long_? Robbie had wondered then, just as she did again now. 

His dear friend - the damn King of all of Westeros - won't live forever, and if the man's horrid son was anything to go by . . . Well, let's just say that she very much doubted that the friendship that had lasted for the last seventeen years between their two Houses would remain intact after his death. Not to mention that the would-be-King already disliked Robbie greatly, and she honestly didn't trust him not to take her head when she was eventually called forth to bend the knee to him, should her father pass on his titles to her by then, that is. Fingers crossed that _he_ is the poor soul that would have to make that particular journey and not _her_. 

Maybe now that her father is gone for the time being and she is the one in charge, she'll revisit the idea of rebuilding Moat Cailin, call on some of his - _her_ \- Bannerman for some able bodies to aid her in that ambitious endeavour. That is . . . if she could even get her new Bannerman to take her seriously long enough to hear out her proposal and its benefits for the North. 

She had had dreams of preparing it and gifting it to Jon one day, impossible now that he had taken the black, which meant no lands or titles could ever be his. He could have been happy there, she mused mournfully, with a keep of his own, far away from her mother - but apparently, the very edges of the North weren't far enough, nope - he had his heart set on ranging far out into the deep North beyond the Wall, alongside their uncle, Benjen.

Maybe Arya would like it? Robbie couldn't ever imagine her marrying into someone else's keep, no - she'd make a fine Lord of a Castle all of her own, just as Robbie will. They could challenge the rigid rules of traditionalism together, just like the ladies of Bear Island do - husbands and cocks be-damned. 

"They've left, then?" Theon's forever amused voice sounded from behind her, as he finished climbing up the last of the stone steps, coming to lean against the battlements at her side. 

"Aye, did you say goodbye?" She asked with a concerned frown, turning her back upon the view in order to pin him with a displeased look, already doubting that he did just that, "Theon, _please_ tell me you - at the _very_ least - had the good sense to bid my father farewell?"

Rolling his eyes, the Ironborn smirked at her charmingly, leaning fully back with his elbows resting against the stone walls. "Aye, of course, I did, my head staying on my shoulders is determined by me keeping in his good graces, after all."

"Don't joke about _that_ ," she grumbled, hitting him hard in the arm for even daring to make light of such a horrible thing, something of which had haunted her nights often since she learnt of the real reason for him being here with them, "It isn't funny, Theon."

"Who said I was joking?" He asked in mock seriousness, in contrast with the hard edge to his eyes that didn't quite match the playful smile curving his mouth up roguishly, "Alright, Little-Wolf, I'll stop - and yes, I _did_ bid him and your sisters farewell, even Snow too."

"You weren't mean to him, were you?" She demanded, sharp blue eyes narrowing on her friend, knowing firsthand just how spiteful Theon could be with his words in regard to Jon when she wasn't there to temper his sharp tongue.

"What does it matter?" Theon wondered with a disinterested shrug of his shoulders, "He's gone now and won't be coming back any time soon, Robbie - he's gone to freeze his cock off on that great hunk of ice that all of you Northerners fawn over - good riddance, if you ask me, he's a miserable sod."

"It matters because he is still my brother, Theon," she snapped back, turning away from him to look back out into the horizon, noting she had long since completely missed the sight of Jon and their father disappearing entirely from her view. "And I love him dearly, you know this, you _always_ have - so have some care with how you speak of him in my presence please, my heart just can't bear it right now."

"Aye, alright, no more bad-mouthing Snow in your hearing rage, got it," Theon agreed begrudgingly, as he too turned to face looking-out over the castle's walls, forearms resting on the stone to support him, "You planning on staying up here all day - because it's fucking freezing, Little-Wolf, and I'd _really_ rather not freeze my cock off too, to be honest with you."

She wasn't asking him to, and yet, she knew he'd stay with her even if she did so, no matter how many protests he put up about it, and the damn unshakable cold of the North that he never tired complaining about. Nothing short of outright shouting at him to "fuck-off!" had ever gotten her free of her Theon-Greyjoy-shaped shadow for longer than a day, at most, of which was why Jon had had to begrudgingly learn to make peace with his presence too. 

She idly wondered if her mother would try to force her to stop spending time with Theon now that Jon was no longer here to 'chaperon' them, but that would mean she'd actually have to leave Bran's room long enough to do so, so probably not. But regardless, people will talk, they always do - _so let them_. They weren't doing anything wrong, they weren't even touching - and there was, at the very least, a full foot and a half between them currently. 

She _hated_ that space.

Hated that she couldn't even lean her head upon his shoulder in her grief, knowing just how it could be construed by her people as improper, or to take his hand into her own for comfort. But what she hated most, was that she will never know him the way that she has always dreamed that she one day could, as a wife knows her husband. The painful truth of it all cut her deeply: that any cloak that gets draped about her shoulders will not be embellished by that ugly Kraken of his; that any children she may have will not have his stupidly beautiful sea-hued eyes and that roguish smile she loved so much . . . that she'll _never_ grow old at his side. It hurt her heart more than she cared to admit. 

So she didn't, she pushed all those pesky hopes and dreams away, far back into that secret space in her mind, praying with all her might that it'll all just _go away_ and leave her in peace. 

"Come on then, you great summer baby, let us head inside."

* * *

It was well past dinner-time when Robbie could be found heading up the spiralling staircase leading to Bran's chambers later that same day, determined to make her mother leave for some fresh air, even if only for a few moments. It was getting ridiculous now, her hiding out in Bran's room all day and night, not even bothering to leave for meals or to bath properly in something deeper than a washbowl. 

Robbie had naively hoped, that in the wake of her father leaving, that her mother would feel compelled to at least make an appearance at evening meals, as her father had. One meal spent with the rest of her children a day wasn't asking for much, it would probably do her a world of good too, not that she seemed to care one lick. 

"It's time we reviewed the accounts, my lady," Robbie heard Luwin say softly, as she stopped just shy of Bran's open doorway.

The aged Maester had his hand placed softly upon Bran's forehead, an affectionate touch, one that spoke of genuine love and sadness. He does, love them all deeply, that is, and took pride in raising them just as much as their own parents did. There was even a time, long ago when she was just a girl of five name days, that she and Jon had been mistaken in think that he was their grandfather. _He might as well have been_ , she thought warmly, he'd been there through every skinned knee and missing tooth, ready to patch them right back up and tell them just how brave they were being. 

"You want to know how much this royal visit has cost us?" He asked tiredly, as he removed his hand and crossed them before him, waiting patiently for her mother to answer him.

"Talk to Poole about it," her mother finally answered him, barely looking up from her task of completing another prayer wheel for Bran, showing the aged Maester more disrespect in that moment that anyone probably ever had dared to do so before.

"Poole went south with Lord Stark, my lady," Luwin informed her mother gently, despite her rudeness, meeting her wet eyes with nothing but compassion in his own. "We need a new steward, and there are several other appointments that require - "

"I don't _care_ about appointments," her mother snapped bluntly, cutting off the Maester, all the while not once looking up from her prayer wheel.

With a sigh, Robbie stepped into the room, "I'll make the appointments," she offered evenly, stepping into the role her father had shaped her for. "We'll talk about it first thing in the morning," she finished, addressing Luwin with a kind smile, hoping that she looked as confident as she was trying for, despite the fear that swelled in her gut.

"Very good, my lady," Luwin agreed with a small approving smile of his own and a shallow bow, before turning to look one last time at her mother pityingly and making his way from the room with a simple "my lady" in-parting towards her.

Crossing to stand before Bran's bedroom window, Robbie opened the shutters wide, hoping to breathe some life back into the stuffy and rather dreary feeling room. Bran wouldn't have cared for it, it was far too dower for the lively boy, who loved the outside most of all. It was dark out now, but the moon shorn brightly, illuminating like a ball of molten silver up in the night's sky.

"When was the last time you left this room, mother?" Robbie finally asked, trying with all her might to keep the bite of anger from her voice, as she turned slightly to look upon her mother's form hunched over the side of Bran's bed from over her shoulder.

Usually, Robbie was the one getting complained at for looking a mess, tracking mud everywhere, or not braiding her hair back properly. It was ironic then, that the very woman who did all that complaining was the one now looking like she hadn't seen the good end of a hairbrush in weeks, which she probably hadn't given the nest that was her long locks currently. 

Her dress - grey, proper and northern in overall appearance - was creased all over, and her usually impeccably tight single braid of red down her back was a mess, with loose strands falling free about her pale and gaunt face. She needed to start eating more, she was getting too thin, it wasn't a flattering look upon her once radiant mother - she looked like a shadow of her former self. 

"I have to take care of him," her mother said by way of answer, barely looking up from her crafting to spare her eldest daughter a beseeching look.

"He's _not_ going to die, mother," Robbie stated firmly, having reached her limit of indulging her mother's self-pity, as if to say that she was the _only_ one hurting from this, "Maester Luwin has said that the most dangerous time has passed."

"What if he's wrong?" Her mother demanded frantically, "Bran _needs_ me."

"No - Rickon _needs_ you," Robbie countered harshly, whipping around so fast she felt her long braid hit into the window frame behind her before falling heavily back down her back, "He's _six_."

Robbie couldn't help the twinge of remorse that came almost immediately after at seeing her mother's Tully blue eyes brim with fresh tears in response to her bluntly put words. But she wasn't going to let that break her resolve, Bran wasn't the only child she had to care for, of which she obviously needed reminding of. 

"He doesn't know what's happening, mother - he follows me around all day, clutching my hand - _crying_."

As if to empathise her words, Summer - Bran's wolf - let out a loud and harrowing howl, prompting his littermates to join him. 

"Close the windows!" Her mother suddenly broke, sobbing ugly into her hands, "Please, I can't stand it, make them stop!"

With a sigh, Robbie turned back to the windows, taking in the Direwolves cries breaking the silence of the night below. If her mother allowed them inside, instead of making them sleep in the kernels, they would stop because Summer would be at Bran's side already, with no need to pine loud enough to keep the whole castle awake every night.

Flicking her gaze off into the distance, her attention was snagged by a flickering of amber light, a light that could only be one thing . . . "Fire," she breathed out, stepping back from the window in alarm, even while her eyes remained locked steadily upon the growing light.

"You stay here," she ordered of her mother, who she now had the full and undivided attention of, a little too little and a little too late. Robbie now had more pressing matters to attend to, like rushing with due haste back towards the door, not even bothering to spare her mother a second look as warning bells sounded off loud in the distance, "I'll come back."

She took the spiralling stairs down two at a time, almost causing herself to lose her balance with just how dizzy it made her, leaving her no choice by to place her hands spread out wide on either side of her to keep herself steady on her feet. She hit the ground running, knowing that there was no time to waste and everything to lose, should the fire spread far enough to reach the small thicket of woodlands that separated the castle and Wintertown. The fire had looked to be coming from just passed the east gates - _inside_ of Wintertown. Meaning that should it spread, as fires tend to do, it will do so fast, given just how close the town was to the castle. 

Finally reaching the courtyard, Robbie noted with relief that the men were already assembling themselves, with Theon being one of them. He was mounting his horse, Smiler, which made a home next to hers, Midnight. She wasn't the least bit surprised that he had thought to ready her horse too, he knew she wouldn't sit idly back while able bodies were needed, and the sounds of the bells now ringing into the night would have been hard to miss from her rooms in the tower of the family wing.

Grabbing the reins of her horse, Robbie expertly swung herself up, a move crafted from years of riding - despite her mother's complaints about the possibility of her losing her maidenhead in doing so. Father had deemed it a necessary skill for his Heir, to frequently be able to visit other Northern Houses on horseback, to really _know_ the people that would be under her care one day and to have them know her back in kind. 

With a nod from the Ironborn seated on the horse beside her, Robbie kicked Midnight into an abrupt run, following the congression of men already flooding out of the gates towards Wintertown before her. It was a quick ride, one that had Robbie's heart in her throat the whole way, as the flames grew bigger and brighter with every step Midnight galloped closer.

It was the bread maker's home that was on fire, Robbie noted, as she spied the woman sobbing out-front, clutching her son close to her plump chest, while her husband went about throwing buckets of water upon the flames with several others of the townsfolk. Pulling Midnight into a jarring stop, Robbie swung herself down off of her back in a graceful arch, handing the reigns off promptly to a random woman standing nearby. Without hesitation, Robbie ran into the fray, with Theon and her men readily at her back, just as she knew they would be. Together, they went about filling buckets, right alongside the townsmen.

At first, it didn't seem to be making much of a difference, but the wind was with them, thankfully allowing them the chance to snuff the flames out before it could spread to the neighbouring building. It was too dark to see clearly for sure, but by what Robbie could assess, there sadly wasn't much left salvageable of the bread maker's home. 

Wiping sweat from her brow, Robbie turned her tired gaze upon the family huddled together before their destroyed home, sitting defeatedly upon the cobbles, grieving their loss together. It broke her heart to see how lost they all looked, rightly so, given everything they had to their names had quite literally just gone up in smoke. Which was what prompted her next action, as she strode determinately over to them, brushing escaping strands of her hair back from her sweaty face as she did so. With Theon, as expected, following right along behind her - as did Ser Rodrik, the master-at-arms at Winterfell.

"Milady," the bread makers husband greeted thickly, using the commoners' pronunciation for her title, noticing her presence first, "We thank you dearly for your help."

"I was only doing what was right," she brushed off gently, reaching out to brush a falling tear from the boyish-round face of their son, who looked to be about Rickon's age, give or take a year or two. "Which is also why I would like to finance the rebuild, that is, if you would allow me?"

"Oh, Milady!" The bread maker exclaimed, shocked and overwhelmed by her kind offer, hands now clutching at her chest in an attempt to contain her thudding heart, "We couldn't possibly allow for such generosity!"

"You may not live within the gates of Winterfell but you are still my people," Robbie explained softly, taking the bread maker's scarred hands - from years of pulling fresh bread from the oven - into her own soot-covered ones, "And as such, it is my duty to see that my people have everything that they need, and a bread maker can not make bread without a kitchen, now can she? And you do make the most _wonderful_ loaves, my lady, not even our ones up at the castle can compare."

"You are too kind, Milady," the bread maker's husband said thickly, holding his son and wife closer to his side, the latter of whom was blushing something fierce at Robbie's praise, "But I could expect no less from the daughter of Lord Stark - you do him _proud_ in his absence, Milady."

"Ser Rodrik," she called to the man beside her, having to clear her throat with how choaked up the baker's husband was making her with his kind words, the former of whom straightened his back and shoulders proudly at her address, "Will you see to the rebuild in my stead, I should like to see it start immediately, if possible?"

"Of course, my lady," he agreed readily, bowing his head respectfully, before readily turning to bellow orders at their men.

With a parting smile at the family, Robbie turned to find her horse, still being looked after by the unknown woman, as was Smiler. With a grateful smile, Robbie thanked the kind woman sincerely, before taking Midnight's reins back. With a bow and a pretty smile from the woman, who Robbie was sure was a whore Theon knew well, that is . . . if the coy little smile and fluttered eyelashes in his direction were anything to go by.

"You didn't need to do that, you know," Theon stated with an air of exasperation from beside her, only after the woman had left them, as he climbed up onto the back of Smiler, "It isn't your responsibility to fix their mistakes, Little-Wolf."

"Accidents happen, Theon," Robbie rolled her eyes at her callous friend, as she climbed upon Midnight's back beside him, "They should not lose their entire livelihood because of it - at least not when it is in my power to help them."

"What would your father say to you wasting coin upon peasant folk all willy-nilly, huh?" Theon asked snobbishly, reminding her that sometimes he could be a right dick, especially when it came to what he thought - as a Lord and Lady - they were entitled to, above all the other the lesser folks of the world.

"He'd be proud of me," she argued back firmly, knowing it to be true in her heart, as she kicked Midnight into a light trot, "Father always says that it is how those in power treat the smallfolk around them that shows what kind of a leader they truly are - as you well-know, Theon, he taught that ideal to you too."

"Sentiment," he snorted dismissively, bring his horse to ride companionly beside her own, "On the Iron Islands we don't believe in charity, a man must make his own fortune, they must pay the Iron Price."

"Good thing that we're _not_ on the Iron Islands, isn't then, _my lord_ ," She rebuffed with a teasing smirk, as she added the title they both knew as a Ward he wasn't entitled to, a fact of which never failed to ruffle his sensitive feathers on the matter.

"Aye, for if we were I would have already taken you for my Rock Wife, Little-Wolf," Theon agreed, shooting her a smirk of his own, for once taking her words as lightly as she had intended for them to be taken.

"Rock Wife, is it? Not a Salt Wife, then?" She asked playfully, copper brows raised high in question, genuinely surprised, "I thought a Rock Wife had to be Iron born too?"

"No, I wouldn't make a Salt Wife of you, Little-Wolf," Theon explained firmly, face turning unusually serious, and far too intense for Robbie's personal comfort, "Rules be damned - I would have you as my one true wife, I'd make you my Lady Greyjoy, to rule the Iron Islands at my side."

"You would have me give up my name, then?" She inquired softly, feeling a confused flutter begin somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach at the very notion. 

She had always known that she _might_ have to give up her Stark name one day, had her father not actually made her his heir, that is. However, now that she did not have to worry about that particular fear, the very idea seemed so unlikely. She could keep her name forever if she pleased. But . . . the idea of being a Greyjoy, of baring Theon's name as her own, the same name that any and all children they could have had one day baring it too . . . _well_ , that wasn't as unappealing as she had always imaged it would be. It would mean that she would have to leave Winterfell one day, or at the very least, give up the Heirship to Winterfell - for there must always be a _Stark_ in Winterfell. 

Could she do that? Give up all her dreams and ambitions for him, all so he could keep _his_ , to watch as he claimed his Heirship and House seat while she gives hers up to one of her little brothers? Almost immediately, her mind cried out in outraged indignation, _Why should I have to?! Why can't he do that for me instead, his sister is older than him, shouldn't it all go to her anyway?_ But then she remembered what she was lacking between her thighs, that it didn't matter than her House was greater than Theon's, and if anyone should be given up they claim it was he and not her . . . it was just the way of things, she supposed.

It was a man's world, after all. 

"Is it such a horrible thing?" Theon asked, a rare hint of uncertainty in his voice, as he flicked a hesitant look her way, "To become a Greyjoy?"

"No," she admitted truthfully, sending him a tender smile, because - "Sharing your name wouldn't be the worst thing I could imagine" - no, it was the giving up _everything_ else she had ever wanted too, _that_ was the real problem. 

They shared a look of hopeless sadness, for they knew just how impossible it was, the mere thought of them joining Houses and their lives together, it was a child's dream. But it was a truly beautiful dream, all the same, one that nearly broke Robbie's heart clean in half to even entertain for a mere moment, for she wanted it - _him_ \- so badly it was almost unbearable. 

"My lady!" A voice shouted from atop of the castle gates as they were not nearing them, "My lady, there has been an attack upon the little Lord, Bran, and Lady Stark!"


	5. Chapter Five ~ The Weight of Winterfell

_**Winterfell, Hot-Spring Caves** _

* * *

**T** he night had been a long one. The fire in Wintertown alone would have been enough to tire anyone out, but an assassin breaking in, almost killing Bran and her mother, and with it all having occurred on her watch on top of all . . . it all made Robbie more than a little weary of the weight of Winterfell sitting upon her shoulders. Her brother would have died last night, had it not been for Summer, her mother would have died too.

And as she submerged down deep into one of Winterfell's many famed hot-springs with a content sigh, Robbie - for the moment, at least - let all that stress and exhaustion leak from her expanding pores, basking in the heat, willing it to draw all the toxins of that hell of a night away.

It was the largest hot-springs inside or outside the castle, of which could be found way-down-deep within the bowels of the ancient structure it was built around, the main source for ready heated water throughout Winterfell and it's heated walls. More a cave than an actual room, it was pretty much left exactly how it had been first discovered, a natural pool spanning the whole floor of the cave, relatively untouched by man. All save for a few benches here or there about its wide expanse, and a ring of torches secured to the damp walls, the only source of light to be found.

Robbie had always loved it down here, it was like a whole other world, especially when the orange ambers of the torches flickering just right atop of the water's crystal clear surface. She used to spent hours down here as a little girl, playing with her sisters, pretending to be one of those seas-creatures that Theon had always been harping on about, while Arya played the gallant hero saving their fair maiden sister form Robbie's imaginary tentacles.

Sadly, she hadn't been down here in quite a while of late, not since just before Bran fell, too busy preparing to step into her father's shoes to indulge herself in a good long soak. Not that she had the time to do so now, but the soot caking her head-to-toe left her with no real choice on the matter, it was either bathe or face her mother's newly awoken wrath. Hence why she was in here, hiding away from everyone and everything, and had not bothered to have her maids waste their time fetching bucket after bucket to fill a tub instead. 

Truthfully, the pool was far too hot to be truly comfortable, which was why people seldom ever elected to bath here at all. Her flushed skin prickled against the sheer heat attacking her nerve-endings, and the steam emitting from the pool dampened her hair before she had even bothered to dunk the entirety of it below the water's bubbling surface. Of which she idly caressed with the tips of her fingers, touching just enough to disturb the consistent flow of surface bubbles ever-so-slightly, watching in absentminded fascination at the ripples she made bounced back at her form the pool's rocky walls. 

It wasn't a very productive start to her morning to be sure, but as the trial that was her night had been well and truly established already, she felt no need to rush herself off to her usual morning lessons in the yard with Ser Rodrick. He could not fault her absence in light of her little brother - who still had yet to wake - almost getting killed on her watch, now could he? Besides, she was sure he and his men were still in Wintertown, seeing to the repairs upon the Baker's shop, as she had instructed, no doubt. 

"Robbie?" A small voice called out from the large archway of the cave, where a set of spiral stairs were carved into the cave's walls resided on the other side, of which led unhindered back up to the castle's main grounds.

She knew that voice better than her own, if only because Rickon so sollemly ever spoke nowadays that she had come to cherish every word that left his lips, always so small and innocent in sound. Just as he was in person, standing just in the arch of the cave's mouth, eyes blinking owlishly at her, as he took in the large pool he was strictly forbidden from visiting alone. He'd only ever been in here a handful of times, the last time being the more notable one of them all, with their mother trying to teach him to swim.

Made notable if only by the fact that her mother grew up in the Riverlands, learning to swim before she could walk, and yet was not patient enough to impart that same skill upon her own children in her impatience and coddling tendencies. In fact, she had been so smothering and entirely unhelp in her lessons when it came to Robbie, that she had stormed off and vowed never to came back again for another. Instead, unbeknownst to her mother, Robbie had sort Theon out to teach her, finding his 'sink or swim' method more fruitful and had even forced him to teach Jon too. 

Unbothered by the fact that she was bare as the day she had been born - why would he be, he was just barely six name-days, he didn't yet care to look at her body in any such way, to him it was all just skin as pale as his own - Rickon crossed to her, settling himself on the edge of the pool opposite her. He smiled adorably wide at her, auburn curls already starting to darken and tighten in the wake of the steam, as he pulled his sleeves up so he could dip his hands into the water playfully, with his ripples now joining her own.

"What is it, Rickon?" She asked tiredly, though not unkindly, attempting to put a smile on her tired face just for his benefit alone, "Is all well up there still?"

Gods, did she hope so, she didn't know if she could handle yet another thing going wrong right now. She was _done_ with the responsibility of leading already and she'd only had to do so for less than a full day so far. How her father managed to for as long as he has she'll _never_ know. Better yet, how he wasn't entirely grey, that was a secret that she would really like to know because she had real concerns about losing her Tully fire to this damn job. 

"Uh-huh," he nodded, hands still flicking in the pool, not even looking her way as he explained the reason for his presence down here at all, "Theon sent me in here to get you, he says he can't come in himself because you are naked, though I don't see why that should matter? But he promises he'll explain it to me when I get older, once I get some hair on my chest - anyway, he says Mother is looking for you."

Dear Gods . . . the very thought of _Theon Greyjoy_ giving her sweet baby brother the 'birds and the bees' talk was truly horrifying, to be sure, she could already hear him using his vulgar tales of conquest in the brothels as examples. Nope, _definitely_ not - if their father is not back by then, then they'll just have to make the long journey north to the Wall and have Jon deal with it in a way that won't just end up scaring poor, sweet Rickon for the rest of his life.

Sighing, more than a little put out at having her much-needed break interrupted, she waved an impatient hand towards him, demanding that he, "Hand me that bar of soap, will you, please."

Pulling his hands from the pool's scalding depths, Rickon grabbed up the pink bar in question from beside where he sat, tossing it her way soon after. She just barely managed to catch it, wet hands holding onto it precariously, as she shot him a glare that only got her an amused chuckle at her expense.

Lathering it up, she made quick work of cleaning her body with the rose-scented bar, before she moved onto her hair. Finally dunking her head, Robbie held her eyes closed tightly against the heat of the water, one hand pinching her nose while the other remained wrapped around the bar of soap tightly. She broke the surface again less than half a moment later, already lathering the bar once more, before setting it aside to work the suds deep into her wet locks. 

Given just how thick and long her hip-length hair was, it was not an easy task working the soap in and then back out of it again, taking her several more dunks to be sure all traces of the soap was washed out. She rang her red mane out with her hands, twisting and turning it repeatedly to squeeze as much of the water out as she possibly could from her lengths, before standing up from the natural seat deep within the pool.

Rickon, bless him, scampered to fetch her a bathing sheet, as she climbed from the rocky pool's edge, thankfully still heated by the natural heat that the cave generated all on its own. He held it up to her with a pleased smile, happy to be helpful, and more than a little eager to leave the heat of the secret hot-springs already.

"Go on now, no need to wait for me," she huffed, slapping his hands away gently, as he tried to rush her over to her pile of fresh clothes by the cave's entrance. "Theon is, no doubt, still waiting for me outside and even should he not be, I'm sure I'll manage to find Mother on my own, little brother."

"That's because he _loves_ you, Robbie, just like you _love_ him too," Rickon giggled, dancing away from her as she tried to swot him with the breeches she now held in hand, "L - O - V -"

"Off with you, you little pest," she laughed, cutting him off before he could complete his spelling, watching with a soft smile as he skipped from the cave, shouting as an afterthought, "And don't go teasing Theon about that neither!"

But by the childish squeal soon after, followed by Theon's deep voice, words indistinguishable from inside the cave, she knew he had promptly ignored her warning. It was harmless enough, at least coming from Rickon, so long as he didn't go repeating it to their mother, of course. Because that would be bad, _very_ bad, indeed, she'd _definitely_ find a way to keep them apart after hearing something like that. 

Turning back to her clothes still in hand, Robbie dropped her bath sheet, moving to pull her breeches on first. She didn't bother with small clothes, much like a man, simply because they tend to bunch up uncomfortably, right up in places that simply-put was _not_ ladylike to dig back out again. For even she, disappointment-lady-in-training had her limits of how uncouth she was willing to be, if only because her mother would never forgive her if she was caught, quite literally, with her hands down her breeches trying to sort herself out. 

Once she had finally managed to work both of her still slightly damp legs into the tight leather of her breeches and laced them close, she moved on to her doublet, a prettily embroidered piece, pulling the laces on the font tight and then tucking the bottom of it into the tops of her breeches. It was one of her favourites - the doublet, that is - dark blue in colour, with detailed grey and silver vines climbing their way down her arms from her shoulders.

Sansa knew better now, never to embroider anything she wanted to be seen or admired on the chest, at least when it came to beautifying Robbie's clothes, that is. For it always ended up being completely covered by her leather jerkin anyway, of which too, had been modified for aesthetics. Or, at least, as much as a boiled piece of leather could be. It was altered specifically to fit comfortably and flatteringly across her chest, making sure her breasts stayed firmly in place when she was training in the yard, a lesson of which she had learned the hard way of in the early days with her blossoming chest as an awkward teen. 

In order to do all that, keep her 'ladies' as it were, in place and still protect the rest of her torso should she find herself in a battle, her jerkins had to be designed more like a corset than Robbie would have ideally liked. But at least she could breathe still, that was an obvious win, lacing up the front so she had some control with just how tight it needed to be. 

Next came her woollen socks, knitted by yours truly, in one of the rare times she hadn't managed to get away from her mother quick enough and found herself in a knitting circle with her sisters, one of whom was just as equally unwilling to be there as she was. But they had turned out quite nice, she'd admit, if a little bumpy and too tight in certain spots, they still got the job done. 

Finally came her calf-high boots and her leather arm braces, the latter of which was stamped with the Stark House sigil, matching the sword belt she was now wrapping about her waist. It was one of her favourites, Jon had had it made for her on her last name day, stamped with an unbroken circle of running wolves about her waist. Her sword, however, had been a gift from her father, on the same name day.

It was a longsword, with the hilt wrapped in thick black leather, and a red-stained wolf head for a pommel. She had secretly named it 'Siren' upon Theon's drunken suggestion, in honour of all the male lives that she'll no doubt be taking with it in the years to come, with the pretty sound of it's blade cutting through the air like a song. It had seemed fitting at the time, her a woman, wielding her most deadly weapon against those that would dare to cross into her lands. She just felt a little silly for it now, especially in the wake of the damn King claiming that she had siren blood in her veins already, and gods forbid Theon learns that it was he who named her sword after all. He'd no doubt get for too much pleasure from such a trivial thing, best to keep him and his already over-inflated ego in check.

Ready to go, Robbie went about combing her fingers through her long locks, as she climbed the stairs, starting her braid once she was free of knots. She didn't bother doing a high one, from the crown of her head, like she usually preferred wearing, knowing she hadn't the time or patience for it right now. Instead, she started from the nape of her neck, idly working her way down the wet strands, managing to tie it off with a leather bind right in time to come face-to-face with Theon's own smirking one.

Honestly, when _wasn't_ he smirking, it was like the world was one big jape to him. He leant casually against the outer archway to the stairs leading back down into the hot-spring cave, arms crossed over his board chest, with those dark, sandy curls of his dancing in the light breeze of the morning. He was beautiful like this, a sight that made her heart skip a beat behind her jerkin, as she flicked her braid-tail over her shoulder.

"About fucking time, Robbie," Theon grumbled good-naturedly, pushing off from the wall, as he ran an absentminded hand through his hair, "I was beginning to think you had drowned yourself, either that or grown gills."

"Shut-up, Greyjoy, I was enjoying my bath," she shook her head in exasperation, playfully tapping her shoulder against his own as he fell into step beside her, "I had so much soot in my hair I damn near contemplated shearing the lot of it off just to make my life a little easier!"

Amusement lit up his face, as he let out a loud bark of laughter, that started off her own chortle, only much more tame in comparison. She had learnt not to draw too much attention to them when they were alone, but Theon - being typical Theon, didn't care one lick. It drove her mad, especially when it wasn't him who had to deal with knocks against his reputation, not like she did just by being in his company alone. 

"So, what does my mother want, then?" Robbie wondered, tapering off her laughter, as she tried to subtly eye the kennel-master now eyeing the two of them suspiciously.

"Hells if I know, she only told me to find you and then to come and find her in the Gods Woods," Theon informed with a disinterested shrug of his shoulders, already leading her unawares in that direction, with Grey Wind casually falling into step between them.

Maybe the presence of her trusted wolf companion would be enough to dissuade the nosy kennel-maester that nothing untoward would be happening between her and her entirely too improper friend? Probably not, in all likelihood, but a girl could hope, right? 

They had to head all the way into the heart of the God's Woods, where the heart trees made their roots, in order to find her mother, who was already accompanied by Maester Luwin and Ser Rodick. She looked more alert than Robbie had seen her look in weeks, with her hair finally washed and brushed, she was even wearing an unwrinkled dress. And all it had taken to get her up and bathed was another near-death experience upon one of her children, maybe Robbie should have taken a 'fall' from her horse or something weeks ago, it would have probably put an end to all her nonsense before she let herself get so damn thin. 

"What I am about to tell you _must_ remain between us," her mother started off as soon as they joined the others, not even giving Robbie a chance to greet her, to tell her how happy it made her too see her out and about. Nope, her mother was all business right now, flicking a sharp eye down at her daughter and the other three gathered around her, continuing with a grave sounding, "I don't think that Bran fell from that tower. I think he was _thrown_."

_Aye, I've already long since came to that conclusion_ , Robbie commented drily to herself, barely containing her eye-roll, adding to herself, _And ha_ _d you been of a more stable mind I might have already discussed this theory long before now, mother._ She had thought to do just that, many times in the weeks following Bran's fall, but every time she opened her mouth to do so her mother and her fragile state-of-being came to the forefront of her mind.

So she just . . . left it be, at least for the time being, deciding to wait for Bran to wake and tell them all what really happened instead. If only so she didn't have to be the one to suggest foul play while their castle had been still crawling with southerners and break what little semblance of strength their mother had left while she did it. 

"The boy was always sure-footed before," Maester Luwin concurred with her mother's, and unknowingly, Robbie's theory.

"Someone tried to kill him," her mother went on, now that their supposed version of events had real traction, clutching the very hand that was cut in the failed assassination attempt in a closed fist pointedly, "Someone tried to kill Bran twice - _why_? Why murder an innocent child? _Unless_ . . . he saw something he wasn't meant to see."

"Saw _what_ , my lady?" Theon asked curiously, with his frowning eyes already saying that he believed every word her mother spoke, as the others seemingly did so too.

"I don't know," her mother admitted, shaking her head fearfully, before she turned sharply to meet her eyes with Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin's own respectively, "But I would stake my life that the _Lannisters_ are involved. We already have reason to suspect their loyalty to the crown."

She was referring to the letter from her sister, Robbie's aunt living in the Vale, who was a few cats short of a full litter if you catch her meaning. Robbie very much doubted that anything that woman had to say was even remotely close to the truth, not that she'd dare say as much to her mother, knowing that she didn't put much stock in the unkind rumours about her sister coming North from the Vale.

"Did you notice the dagger the killer used?" Ser Rodrik pointed out, holding the dagger in question out before him for their inspection, "It's too fine a weapon for such a man. The blade is Valyrian steel and the handle dragon bone . . . someone must have given it to him."

"They come into our home," Robbie seethed aloud, now that she could see with her own two eyes the proof right before them, "And tried to murder my brother - _twice_ \- if it's a war they want - "

Robbie never got to finish her rage-fueled statement, for Theon was already stepping forward, both figuratively and literally, vowing, "If it comes to that you know I will stand behind you."

He promised his sword to _her_ in that moment, not her mother, an action she could see by her mother's narrowing gaze that she had indeed noticed. Robbie wanted to slap him up-side the head for being so carelessly stupid, her mother was the one person they could not slip up around, and he _knew_ that just as she did. But that was a problem for another day, at least if Maester Luwin's scoff was anything to go by, as he folded his hand before his chains. 

"What?" Maester Luwin mocked, amusement dancing in his age addled voice, " - Is there going to be a battle in this Gods Woods, huh? Too easily our words of war become _acts_ of war. We don't _know_ the truth yet. Lord Stark must be told of this," he finished, turning to address her mother, dismissing Theon so soundly she had to place a hand upon his forearm to stay his anger from prompting him into doing something stupid enough that would definitely end the day with his head on a pike.

"I don't trust a raven to carry these words," her mother admitted, her worry and concern clear on her gaunt face, as she looked down at the wise Maester, silently pleading him for a suggestion to her plight.

"I'll ride to King's Landing," Robbie offered up her own suggestion, knowing in her heart that it was the only way to be sure that the message got to her father run molested.

"No," her mother was quick to rebuff, firm voice leaving no room for argument, "There must _always_ be a Stark in Winterfell. I will go myself."

"Mother . . . you _can't_ ," Robbie argued, feeling real fear work it's way deep into her bones - she couldn't rule the North alone . . . look at what had happened after only a day in doing so! Her parents would come back to a smouldering ruin at this rate.

"I _must_."

_Well, there is certainly no way in all of your seven hells I'm letting you go alone_ , Robbie thought defiantly to herself, steeling herself up for an argument she was determined to win. But thankfully, Ser Rodrik was on the same wavelength as her, as he almost immediately followed her mother's insistence up with, "I'll send Tale with a squad of guardsmen to escort you," before Robbie could even think to open her mouth and demand that her mother at the very least takes Theon with her.

"Too loud a party will attract too much unwanted-attention," her mother rebuffed, worrying her lip with a frown, no doubt wondering exactly what Robbie was, how on the Gods green earth she thought she'd make it all the way to King's Landing alone, "I don't want the Lannisters to know I'm coming."

"Let me accompany you, at least," Ser Rodrik offered with air finally about his words, leaving no room for argument, as he arched a thick brow up at her mother, "The King's Road can be a dangerous place for a woman alone."

It took a nod of agreement from Maester Luwin to finally convince her, earning a sigh of relief from Robbie. Leaving her wondering if her mother actually did have some of that famous wolf-blood in her veins, after all, she was certainly stubborn enough for it to be true.

"But what about Bran?" Robbie dared to ask, not at all happy with the sudden turn of events, especially when it left her to care not only for a castle full of people but also her little brothers, one of which whom was still gravely injured.

What if, Gods forbid, he did die? What was she supposed to do _then_ , without her parents, how was she supposed to deal with _that_ alone? 

"I have prayed to the seven for more than a month," her mother defended herself shakily, pleading with her eyes for Robbie to understand, "Bran's life is in their hands now."

_Now_ she decides she's prayed enough? Robbie can't help but be angry with her, how could she not be? She had been parenting her youngest brother alone, while _she_ sat idly by, weaving her wheels helping exactly nobody with the damn things. She won't begrudge her mother her grief and sorrow, Bran was her child after all, but what she would judge her on was how she forgot completely about all her other child in the wake of that pain. 

And now . . . she was telling them that she just wanted to up and leave? Without even so much as a goodbye to Rickon first, of which Robbie knew wasn't coming, not if they wanted to keep this completely between just the five of them. Logically, she knew this was the way it had to be - emotionally, however, Robbie found endless holes in that damn logic of hers. With poor little Rickon being the most prominent of them all.

But no argument she had made had managed to sway her mother against being the one to go. And she had certainly tried, all the way out of the Gods Woods, straight to the stables, as Maester Luwin rushed off to prepare supplies for their imminent journey south. After all of her pleads and arguing that Ser Rodrick was more than capable of going alone, as did he, and she _still_ refused to hear reason.

She had left with Ser Rodrik less than an hour later, leaving Robbie to deal with explanations as to the reasons for Lady Starks sudden disappearance, especially to that of her two youngest sons.

It was tragically ironic really, that their mother had spent near a full month at Bran's bedside, willing him to wake, and then the very moment that she leaves it . . . he does just that.


	6. Chapter Six ~ Adapt and Overcome

_**Winterfell, Family Wing** _

* * *

**J** ust over two sennights had passed in the time since her mother had left and Bran finally woke up, and yet, Robbie was no closer to feeling like she had any idea as to what she was doing. The only thing she hadn't totally failed at so far was the rebuilding of the bread baker's home, though her many advisers were more inclined to disagree, thinking it a frivolous waste of coin. But Robbie had disagreed then, just as she certainly disagreed _now,_ especially knowing that the fire had been purposely set as a distraction, all so Bran's would-be assassin could slip right on by in the chaos. 

Of which brought Robbie right on to another one of her many failings - Bran, who refused to speak of his fall, no matter how much she pushed or how sweetly she asked. He preferred to just lay there in his furs and stare silently out of his window, which was exactly what he was doing right now, she noted with a frustrated sigh. Stopping just shy of his chamber's door, Robbie leant there, as she too listened to the of one of Old Nan's tall tales. 

The ancient servant, who had been here at Winterfell long before even her Lord father had been born, was sat at her brother's side, knitting needles clanking repetitively in hand. She once made the most beautiful embroidery work, she'd even been the hand that had stitched more than a few of the many tapestries hanging from the walls of the castle, a skill of which had been lost to the age of her now unsteady hands. It was a shame, but Old Nan had never seemed to mind too much, she had just switched her thread needle for a knitting one, as easy as that.

That was one of the things Robbie had always adored about Old Nan, nothing phased her - though to be fair, she was probably old enough to have seen it all by now, why would any of it bring her up short in surprise? She knew every story of the North to be told, which was why she had always been Bran's favourite babysitter, even when her storied had him running for Robbie's room in the middle of the night scared out of his wits. 

With a reminiscent smile curving up her lips, Robbie waited until Old Nan _really_ got going, with her voice going deep into that familiar creepy and intense drone of hers, knowing how it shook Bran most in those moments. Timing her entrance just perfectly, Robbie purposefully flung the door open wide and pushed away from the doorframe, with her eyes dancing in amusement as she saw Bran's shoot to meet her own, large and more than a little startled.

He settled back down into his furs with a huff of exasperation as he spied her playful smile, more irritated at himself for being scared than at Robbie for doing the scaring, no doubt, as he turned his gaze back towards the window. For just a brief moment in time, Robbie had seen her old little brother, the one who loved nothing more than to be scared, and yet hated the after-effects of that scaring something fierce. But quicker than a flash of lightning, he was gone again, and back in his place was this impassive and sullen boy she barely recognised.

"What you telling him now?" Robbie asked of Old Nan affectionately, even while she tried vainly to keep her slipping smile firmly in place, as she walked farther into the room.

She stopped at the foot of his bed, of which was far larger than a boy of his age probably needed, piled with a multitude of furs and thick quilts - he looked so impossibly small settled in the middle of all that comfort. But he didn't _look_ comfortable though, he looks resined, a shell out of place among all those thick furs. 

Feeling just as unsure about what to say or do as she had all the other times she had visited her brother, especially knowing that she'd be the one expected to carry any conversation. That is . . . _if_ any words were actually shared between them at all. Theon had always, rather crudely, jabbed that Bran had had the most serious case of verbal-diarrhoea he had ever seen, and his assessment honestly hadn't been that far off the mark. It was why the oddest thing about this new version of her brother was just how quiet he was now, whereas before you would have been hard-pressed to get a single word in edgewise. 

"Only what the little Lord wants to hear," Old Nan offered back in mock innocence, pale blue eyes wide and chapped lips pulled tight over her toothless gums, as she tried to hold back a budding smile.

With an amused shake of her head, sending her free-flowing copper locks dancing down her back ever-so-slightly, Robbie smiled indulgently at the aged woman she had known all her life, "Go get your supper, I want to spend some time with him."

Promptly following her orders, Old Nan gathered up her knitting basket beside her, as she climbed from the rocking-chair at Bran's bedside, placing the knitting upon her seat. She then gathered up the skirts of her dress with both frail and shaky hands, as she trotted from the room, meeting Robbie's smile with a comforting one of her own as she passed her by.

Waiting until Old Nan had closed the door firmly behind her, Robbie moved closer still before finally speaking to Bran, with amusement tainting her every word, "One time she told me the sky is blue because we live in the eye of a blue-eyed giant named Macumber."

Robbie hadn't slept for near a week straight after that, at least not alone, she had snuck into Jon's room every night. At least, until her mother had realised what she was doing and put a stern stop to it - it was also why Jon had been moved from the Family Wing and into one in another tower altogether, which he had from then on shared with Theon after he had come to live with them.

"Maybe we do," Bran offered softly, his voice even and lacking all his usual merriment and wonder.

Taking a seat upon Bran's bedside, her hip pressed against his own through the furs, Robbie lent over him, seating herself with a hand resting upon the furs on the other side of him. Her hair fell over her shoulder, unintentionally creating a thick shield of red blocking his view to the window, finally forcing him to look at her.

cautiously, fearful of the answer, Robbie asked, "How do you feel?"

Silence met her question, not that it was particularly surprising, but that didn't mean his silence didn't hurt her heart though. She had always been his favourite sibling, her little knight, he was going to be Winterfell's first one - now he never will. 

"You still don't remember anything?" She tried instead, bringing the hand that wasn't supporting her weight up to brush his fringe out of his eyes, stroking it down to his cheek, before letting it drop away with a sigh when he just continued to stare right on through her.

He did answer, after an impossibly long beat of silence between them, with a simple shake of his head.

"Bran . . . " Robbie started cautiously, knowing in her bones that he wasn't telling her the whole truth, he _couldn't_ be . . . right? He was pushed, so he had to have seen who did it, he was just too afraid to admit it. "I've seen you climb a thousand times. In the wind, in the rain . . . a _thousand_ times. You _never_ fall."

"I _did_ , though," Bran insisted earnestly, lifting his head up from his pillow slightly, and even still . . . Robbie wasn't buying it. "It's true, isn't it . . . what Maester Luwin says about my legs."

She knew that he was trying to change the conversation, he wasn't exactly being subtle about it, but then again what child of ten name days knew enough to subtly divert a conversation without detection? Bran had always been too honest, much like Jon, he could never get away with mischief, not like Arya and Theon so easily could. It honestly scared Robbie at times, just how good a liar Arya could be, she could only imagine the type of woman she'll no doubt grow into - like one of those fierce heroines from one of her beloved stories, no doubt.

Or maybe not . . . she had thought Bran's dreams would come true too, so what did she really know about anything, the Gods had plans of their own that she couldn't even begin to understand. They had taken Bran's legs from him, for what purpose, she didn't know? She'd prayed for clarity, for answers, for hope . . . the Gods had remained silent on the matter, so she could only assume that whatever their plan was for Bran was . . . it wasn't yet finished playing out. 

She had to have faith. 

By his softly spoken words, Robbie knew trying to remind him of that too would be a wrong move, he was too angry to hear that his tragedy was the Gods will. So instead, she had to try and tell him that the Maester's were probably true, that he probably wouldn't ever walk again. Her stomach did a nosedive at the mere thought of being the one to do so, this wasn't her place, their mother should be here to do this, not her. But with a stiffened jaw and sadness in her eyes, Robbie nodded her head mutely in answer, knowing she could never get the words out while he looked at her so imploringly so.

"I'd rather be dead," Bran stated angrily, dropping back down onto his furs with a locked jaw, and his eyes flicking up from Robbie's own to lock on some random spot on the ceiling above him. 

"Don't _ever_ say that," Robbie ordered firmly, chest tight, feeling as if all the air was being violently squeezed from her lungs.

Taking his hand into her own, needing to hold onto some part of him, as the mere thought of _that_. . . gods, it was enough to bring tears to her eyes with a harsh burn. Blinking them back, she grabbed his chin firmly, forcing him to meet her Tully blues with his own, not allowing him to shy away from her hard gaze.

"I'd _rather_ be _dead_ ," Bran repeated, meeting her eyes dead-on, with truth and conviction undeniable his own.

In that moment, Robbie's heart broke clean in two, with an anger she had never felt before burning like wildfire through her veins, as her trembling hands shot out to grasp tightly upon his shoulders. She shook him hard, whether to shake some sense into him or just to outlet some of her frustration, she honestly didn't know - only that his words struck a very visceral and real fear inside her she didn't quite know how to handle.

"So, _what_ . . ." Robbie snapped back at him, nails curling harshly into the shoulders of his doublet, almost baring her teeth in her sudden and uncheckable anger, " . . . you're told you'll never walk again and you . . . you _give_ up? Just like that!"

"What would you have me do?!" Bran shouted up at her, in a rare display of emotion that had been so absent from his face of late, with his eyes brimming against his will, "My legs are useless now - he told me I'll never walk again because I _won't_ ever walk again, Robbie _-_ I feel _nothing_."

To empathise his words, Bran sat up, shoving her back roughly as he did so, and began to hit at his limp legs. He was full-out crying now, shouting nonsensical words as he beat at his dead limbs in savage grief, and the more it didn't seem the hurt him the more he attacked himself. 

She tried to halt his hands, but he wouldn't be stopped, and in this state, he was surprisingly strong. Not wanting to hurt him or have him hurt himself anymore, Robbie knocked him back down on the bed and tried to pin him down long enough to calm him. But he would or _could_ not hear her, screaming "I'm broken - I'm broken!" over and over, each shout like a knife to her heart.

He tried to twist from her, but his unresponsive legs would only let him move so far from her, leaving him laying defeated upon his side. Climbing completely onto the bed, Robbie lay at his back, wrapping her arms about his sobbing form, trapping his arms down across his chest. 

Her own sobs came freely now too, with her tears soaking the hair at the back of his head, as she tried to shush him, to claim him down long enough to talk. They stayed like that, with her left side went numb from lying still for so long, until he finally grew silent, with his soft sniffles the only sound besides their breathing to be heard. 

Pushing up on her elbow, Robbie released his arms in order to bring her hand up to his chin, gently turning him towards her once again. He looked so lost, every inch his age, as his large and flooded eyes met her own. Bringing her hand up to his cheek, she brushed her thumb up to swipe tenderly at the fresh tears that fell, letting her own fall freely as she did so. 

"I was a little younger than you, you know, when I was told my dreams would always be just that . . . dreams of a little girl," she sighed unsteadily, recalling that day with a heavy heart and a soft smile. "It was Jon's first day of training with Ser Rodrick - Gods, he was so little back then, even smaller than me, prettier too," she laughed wetly, "It was his curls, so perfect and luscious, even Sansa has always been jealous of them . . . anyway, it was his first lesson and I couldn't understand why _I_ wasn't allowed to join him in them."

She and Jon, so close in age, had truly been raised as if they were twins - they did everything together, from learning to walk to learning to read and write - every pivotal step was taken together. Which was why she simply hadn't understood why she was barred from his lessons, she was to be heir one day, shouldn't she learn how to fight too? 

"You know me, I wasn't having any of that, I stormed over to that training yard, picked up a wooden sword of my own and demanded Ser Rodrick teach me too."

That got a small smile from Bran, barely there, but there, all the same. 

"Jon had thought nothing of it, already moving to bat his sword against my own with that stupid smile of his - you know the one, the one that pups have when they see their masters after a long parting, all soft and honest - all before Ser Rodrick could even think to take the sword from me."

"Why would Ser Rodrick take your sword from you?" Bran asked softly, a small frown creasing between his brows.

It probably seemed so strange to him now, no doubt, to ever think that Ser Rodrick - a man who sung her praises endlessly with a sword - would even think to take it from her. But she had been just a little girl back then, not the heir, a fact of which her mother had promptly reminded her of, as she came rushing out of the keep straight for her. 

It hadn't been the first day Robbie had skipped out on her needle-point lessons, nor had it been the last, but it was the one she threw a most spectacular tantrum as she made a rather grand exit. You see, Jon - the good and loyal brother that he was, would always bring a book and join her while she was forced into those lessons, reading them aloud for her to help pass the time. But that day . . . he hadn't been there and once Septa Mordane explained why, that he was outside tending to his own lessons, she grew enraged. 

Not at Jon, of course, never was her anger ever aimed at her sweet brother. No, her anger had been at Septa Mordane, the one who told her she would never be the heir. At her mother, who was the reason, and her father, who enforced her mother's will, despite not believing in it himself. 

"Because I wasn't always father's heir, did you know that, for a time _you_ were the heir instead of me," she admitted, observing his surprise with interest, having always wondered how he would feel when he learnt that for the first time, that their home could have been his one day instead of hers. 

" _Me_?" He breathed out in disbelief, mouth dropping open, as he blinked owlishly up at her, "But . . . but you're older than I am . . ."

"Aye, I am," she nodded, smiling bittersweetly down at him, as she brought her hand back up to brush affectionately at his hair, "But I don't have a cock and you do."

"Why would that matter?"

She loved him for asking that: for not understanding why her being a girl should mean she couldn't or shouldn't be the heir; for being so naive of how the damn world actually worked. 

"Because I am a woman and women don not rule castles, Bran," she explained simply, it was a harsh truth she had learned to come to terms with years ago - _learn_ but not accept.

"But . . . the women of Bear Island . . . " Bran's frown deepened, trailing off in confusion.

"Aye, are fierce women who rule their lands, because with all of their husbands and fathers away for long periods of time on fishing boats or working in the fields, the local women of the island have to be prepared to defend their homes and children from raids at a moment's notice," she explained, "But even still, they're of the North, we're not so rigid in those kinds of was like the south is, them staking up arm is not so strange here."

"We're of the North too, Robbie, why should it matter that you're a girl _here_?"

"Because our mother is _not_ of the North, she is southern through and through, and in the south little girls don't wield swords alongside men." 

"She tried to stop you?"

"Aye, and father was going to let her," Robbie huffed, rolling her eyes bitterly, still a little sore about her father almost sidelining her dreams for the sake of her mothers, "He has always tried to make up for Jon's presence in her life, and one of the ways he does that is that he lets her southern ways interfere with the North's more often than he should."

"Mother believes that a lady can not do what a lord can," Bran nodded his head in understanding, even though a frown still creased between his brows.

"Aye, that she does," Robbie nodded back, letting out a long-suffering sigh, "She means well, mother always means well, but she doe not _always_ know what is best."

Robbie can't help but wonder . . . just how different their lives would be now, had her mother just accepted Robbie for who she is . . . accepted Jon . . . the North. What has the south ever done for her that it prompted her to give it such stout devotion? The North had given her love, five strong and healthy children . . . why weren't _they_ enough?

"It took several weeks later, with me stealing and practising with a sword in the Gods woods on my own, almost cutting my own damn foot off by accident, before father finally relented and let Ser Rodrick train me too."

It had been either that or watch her try and kill herself doing it anyway, which is what he had told her mother when she protested his decision, that Robbie had too much of the wolves blood in her veins to be ignored. 

"Is that when he let you be the heir, then?"

"No," she laughed humorlessly, shaking her head, "That came years later, and only after I had proved myself worthy, had shown him and all those that might doubt me that I could rule after him."

"But you shouldn't have had to," Bran stated, finally understanding her whole point, getting a pleased little smile from her.

" _No_ , I shouldn't have had to, but because I don't have a cock I will _always_ have to prove myself worthing in some man's eyes or another," another harsh truth she had to learn to accept. "It wasn't easy: I was smaller, physically weaker, and had so much more to prove than everyone else. But I learnt to adapt: to use my size for speed, to train every day until I could take a blow just as well as any man could, to find my own worth inside myself."

"You don't have a cock but you never let that stop you," Bran summarized, smiling up at her softly, as he brought a hand up to twirl a lock of her hair around his finger, tugging on it affectionately, "And I don't have my legs anymore . . . but that doesn't mean I should let it stop me either, right?"

"That's right, little brother," she smiled warmly down at him now, mimicking his action with her hair onto his own far shorter locks, "You _adapt_ and you _overcome_."

"How?" He breathed out beseechingly, looking so unsure and hopeful, that it, in turn, gave Robbie just a little bit of much-needed hope too.

"That's for you to figure out, Bran, not me," she shrugged apologetically, leaning down to place a lingering kiss upon his forehead, before pulling back to meet his eyes once more, "It won't be easy, nothing in life ever is, but I have to believe it will all be for a reason - that the Gods had a purpose for doing this to you."

"A reason . . . " Bran mused softly, settling more peacefully back against his furs, finger still twirling a lock of her hair, "Why do you think the Gods made you a girl? It seems to me, that it probably would have just been easier to give you a cock of your own."

"I think . . . I think that the Gods wanted me to be strong, not just physically but of character too, something of which only comes from hardship - and being born a woman in a man's world is certainly that."

"So . . ." Bran trailed off, letting out a steady breath, gifting her with a smile so like his old one that her heart actually skipped a beat, "I adapt - "

" - and overcome," she finished for him, a pleased smiled curling up her lips to match his own, feeling more centred in this moment than she had for near a full month. 

Some would say she failed here today too, that she hadn't gotten confirmation of treason against the North on behalf of the Lannisters, or even a name to go with it . . . but, she had gotten a smile, and _that_ was worth more to her than all of the gold in Casterly Rock. 


	7. Chapter Seven ~ Cripples, Bastards and Broken Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I know I said I wouldn't be adding A/N to this story but...) Sorry that it took forever and a day to update with a new chapter! I started this story during COVID-19 quarantine, and now I'm back at work I just haven't the time for regular updates, but I am trying to write whenever I have a spare moment - this story will NOT be forgotten, I promise.

_**Winterfell, Training Yard** _

* * *

**T** he sun was shining and laughter filled the yard, today was a good day, Robbie decided to herself with an honest smile, as she watched Bran land yet another arrow into the centre of the target. He'd look back at her every time he did so, with a happy smile of his own curving his lips up and accomplishment growing in his eyes, looking for her approval. He had it, of course, but still, to appease his newfound self-confidence, she dutifully nodded back with a congratulatory clap every time. 

His efforts were certainly worth a clap of praise, after all, before his fall he would have been lucky to have hit the target at all, let alone the centre on near every hit he made. She and Jon had tried to teach him, but to be honest, neither of them were particularly very good teachers, at least not with archery, which hadn't come naturally to either of them. Not like it had Theon, who Robbie was sure was born with a bow in hand, he was just that good. 

Convincing him to teach Bran, now that her little brother was willing to rejoin the world outside of his chambers once again, hadn't been all that hard. Of course, Theon had refused point blankly upon being first asked, swearing up and down that he hadn't the time or care to teach anyone anything, not even her poor cripple brother. But it had been _her_ asking, so his giving into her steadfast demands had only been a matter of time, and they both knew it, she had just had to bug him enough relentlessly and wait him out.

She could have ordered it of him, of course, but that would have been too easy, and a slight made upon their friendship. Plus, it had always felt . . . strange, to be ordering Theon, someone three years her senior, about as if he wasn't a High Lord's son himself. People usually forget that little fact, that he was actually the Heir to a Grear House, so Robbe tried not to be one of those people.

Which is probably why he could never refuse her, no matter what ridiculous the request was that she asked of him, and she had asked a few questionable things of him over the years. Like that one time, as a young girl of ten name-days, when she had all but demanded he marries her beneath the heart tree, with a reluctant Jon acting as their joiner, and Arya and Sansa as their two witnesses. Her father had found them all, thinking the whole thing was quite hilarious, had even offered to play along and offer her his arm. Her mother, however, had not been pleased to hear about the tale of 'young love' that her husband had told her about that night as they readied for bed, it was actually the very thing that had caused her to turn a worrying eye upon them in the first place.

So, Theon now standing at Bran's side - seemingly out of the blue and out of character, at least in the eyes of most of the castle's occupants, as her little brother sat upon a barrel in the middle of the training yard, watching with a mindful eye that Bran didn't accidentally knock himself off said barrel - wasn't all that surprising to Robbie. It was endearing really, watching Theon hover like a mother hen about her little brother, doing exactly what he swore that he wouldn't. 

That was Theon for you, he never did anything happily, at least, not without endlessly complaining about it a little first. And no matter what he said to the contrary, Theon had a way with children, maybe because he was just a big one himself half the damn time. But they just seemed to flock to him, kind of like she had as a little girl, no matter how much he had snarled and protested her presence in the early years of their then-budding friendship. 

"My lady," Maester Luwin called out to her softly, grey robes sweeping crossed the ground, with his eyes fixed happily upon Bran's back as the young Stark readied another arrow, "We have a visitor at the North Gate."

"Jon?" Robbie's mind immediately went to, the only person besides her uncle who she could possibly think of heading from that direction towards Winterfell.

But by the shake of his head, Robbie knew it wasn't her brother, or her uncle either, not if the caution she could so easily see upon his age-lined face was anything to go by. It was someone he thought that she wouldn't like to find awaiting at their castle gates, and the only person that she could even begin to guess for that to be was the only other person she knew to be in the far North, the man who had gone that way with Jon, Lord Tyrion. 

A _Lannister_.

She supposed, had she not met Tyrion the night of the feast for herself, Luwin's caution would have been well-founded. Hells, no doubt she would have met him in the Great Hall instead of the Courtyard, as tradition and curacies demanded, with her sword over her lap and Grey Wind growling threateningly at her feet. And what a sight that would have been, it would have left no doubt to his unwelcomeness in her home, and of the clear disrespect that she might have made to show him for his families role in the crippling of her little brother.

But as it stood, Robbie _had_ met him, and from what little she had glimpsed from that brief meeting was of a Lord who had taken the time to give her brother more equality in a single moment than he had ever before been treated by one, even by those from the North. With his words, he had quelled Jon's bitter anger, showed him that there were always worst lots in life to have than being a lord's bastard. 

"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes," he had said, a statement that had spoken volumes to Robbie, it spoke of a man who knew what it felt like to be seen as less, to have to prove himself because of it, regardless of his high stature in life.

The single strand of hair that her mother had found in the Broken Tower was long and golden blonde, pointing them directly to the Queen, a person of whom Tyrion hadn't seemed particularly fond of in their brief time together in the Winterfell. The Queen had had a snear permanently etched in her face the whole of her stay, almost as if she was smelt something bad, but it was never more prominent than when she was looking at her little brother, so Robbie could only assume that the feeling was entirely mutual between them. There was hate in that sharp gaze of the Queen's, it had thrown Robbie through a loop, to be honest, for she could not ever imagine disliking one of her siblings for longer than a few minutes at a time, let alone actually _hating_ them so profoundly as the Queen appeared to do so. 

So, by that reasoning, why would Tyrion aid his sister in attempting to murder a child, not once, but _twice_? Better yet, how could he have managed to do his sister's bidding all the way from the Wall? No, Robbie wasn't buying it - she had no doubts that the Queen had her part to play - but Tyrion seemed . . . he seemed too genuine in his care for others, especially of children. He doted on his niece and nephew - not Joffrey, _he_ was a little beast that only a mother could love - but little Tommen and Myrcella, Tyrion clearly loved them dearly.

Which was why Robbie found it had to believe that someone who could be so loving and devoted to children, could then turn around and throw one out of a window so coldly. Maybe she was being naive, even monsters could love children she was sure, after all, hadn't the mad king had several of his own? She hoped that she wasn't wrong about him though, she really did, if only for Jon's sake, someone who doesn't connect often with others, especially not ones of high birth. 

"Theon," Robbie called out to her friend, getting a curious arched brow in question, "Keep an eye on Bran for me?"

"Where are you going?" He asked, looking between her and Maester Luwin with worry, knowing the master had imparted some news or information to her, yet unwilling to ask what said information or news was, at least not in front of Rickon or Bran, thankfully. 

"We have a visitor," she explained vaguely, smiling readily so as not to worry him, but yet not too wide, lest she causes for Bran or Rickon to jump to the same conclusion she had and think that Jon was here, "I'll be right back - just don't let my little brother fall or it'll be on your head, Greyjoy."

"Aye, alright," he laughed softly, smile not quite reaching his eyes though, of which she could tell meant he didn't believe her at ease assessment in the slightest.

Motioning for Maester Luwin to lead the way, Robbie followed along behind him half a step, trying to project confidence with every single one she made towards the gate. She didn't know how this was going to play out, she also knew confronting him would be pointless, even if he did play a part in Bran's fall it would be suicide for to admit to it while here alone in the North. 

The littlest Lannister looked the exact same as he had the last time Robbie had laid eyes upon him, only far less drunk, she didn't spy his trusty flask anywhere in sight. But then again, that didn't mean he didn't have one on him, just that it no doubt needed filling, which she was sure he'd deal with the moment she bid him welcome. 

At Tyrion's side stood Yoren, a recruiter for the Night's Watch that Robbie was more than a little familiar with, he'd been passing back and forth through Winterfell for South and back her whole life. Admittedly, not the most refined member of the Night's Watch that she'd ever met, her beloved uncle Benjen held that role in her oh-so-humble opinion, but loyal and trustworthy Yoren was none-the-less.

"Yoren," Robbie greeted first with a kind and honest smile, getting a soft glimmer in the older man's eyes in response, as he bowed slightly with a softly spoken, "Lady Red."

It was a nickname that which all the Brothers of the Watch who frequented Winterfell called her, all more than a little enchanted by their sworn Brother's niece, who was to be the North's next Warden, the little red-headed girl who welcomed them like they were the true heroes that the fabled storied dubbed them to be. 

"As always, any Brother of the night's watch will always be welcome in Winterfell, my home is yours," Robbie said to appease the tradition of formally welcoming one's guest, despite the familiarity between them both, as she bowed back in turn, "Maester Luwin will see that your needs are met, Yoren, I do hope that you will be joining us for supper this evening?"

"As my Lady wishes," Yoren bowed again, before following along behind a most reluctant Maester, who by his pinched and concerned look was not at all comfortable with leaving her to walk behind with a Lannister alone. But ever a loyal servant of the Starks, Luwin did as was ordered of him, leading Yoren to the guest wing of the ancient castle without even a look back her way.

"Young Lady Stark, I must say . . . I am surprised to find _you_ bidding me welcome," Tyrion frowned around a curious smile, taking her and Maester Luwin's lone forms, "Where might your Lady mother be, my lady?"

"She had matters to attend to with her sister," Robbie lies smoothly, or as smoothly as she possibly could, even adding a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, of which he noted with a deepening frown, "Regardless, whether she is here or not, I am the acting Lady Winterfell and Warden of the North while my father is away - come, my lord, let us share some bread and salt before we get you settled in your rooms, shall we?"

"Yes, my lady, that would be most appreciated, it is a long journey south from the Wall," Tyrion readily agreed, though she could tell he was all-but biting his tongue, no doubt wondering the real reason as to why and where her mother had gone to in such a surprising hurry so soon after her husband departing. 

"My brother . . . " Robbie hesitated to show such vulnerability in front of anyone, let alone a possible enemy, but her desires to know about Jon's welfare outweighed that self-caution, "Is he well, my Lord?"

"Lord Snow is indeed well, my Lady," Tyrian readily reassured, a soft fond expression painting his harsh face, "Your brother is settling in well at the Wall, he's even made a few friends, as I'm sure you'll learn from his letters."

His letters were vague at best, Robbie thought bitterly, never going into too much detail and just giving Robbie a muted depiction of his new life as a brother of the Watch, all without anything revealing about how he was feeling. But Robbie was used to reading between Jon's words by now, and to her, he sounded sad and disillusioned by whatever it was he had found at the Wall - at least, he did in the first few letters after his arrival. 

But she had noted, the last two seemed more open, with Jon even taking the time to tell her about several of his brothers, these supposed 'friends' that Tyrian had just mentioned, no doubt. She was happy that Jon was now finding his footing, it showed in his letters, but she couldn't lie and say that Tyrian's gentle reassurance wasn't comforting to her. 

"Your letter of little Bran's good turn was much appreciated by your brother," Tyrion remarked, hands clasped behind his back, as he followed at her steady pace, "As by me, my Lady, it brought a smile to my face to hear of his waking . . . is it true, my Lady, he has lost the ability to walk?"

"Aye, Bran will never walk again," she informed sadly, keeping her attention fixed upon the little Lord beside her, watching his reaction to her words keenly.

To Robbie, he seemed earnest in his pity and sympathy for her brother, it made it hard for her to believe he'd played a part in the cause of Bran's fall, to begin with. Secretly, Robbie really hoped that Tyrion didn't have a part to play in her brother's fall, he was the first Southern Lord she had met that gave her hope that they weren't all just cruel brutes. Not even the Northern Lords treated Jon with such equality, as if she were no different to Robbie and their other siblings, she respected Tyrion just for doing so if nothing else. 

"If you are to be a cripple, best to be a rich one," Tyrion offered with an uncertain look of amusement as if he weren't sure she - as a Lady - would appreciate his brand of humour.

With an amused snort, a very unladylike sound that would have had her mother glaring at her in an instant, Robbie surprised Tyrion with her amused agreement, "Aye, that it is, he will want for nothing - nothing gold can't buy, that is."

"Maybe I can be of service in that regards, my lady," Tyrion offered with a humble bow and a gentle smile, honest in its upturn, as he pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment from his waist-belt. 

He held it out to her, of which she only took upon a moment's hesitation, unrolling it with an uncertain arched look sent his far-to-pleased way first. It appeared to be some sort of modified riding saddle, unlike any Robbie had ever before seen, causing her to frown deeply as she tried to puzzle out why such modifications would need to be made at all. 

When the realisation came to her, tears promptly filled her sharp Tully eyes, as she eyed the drawing of the strange contraption that could very well be made to enable Bran to sit upon a horse of his own will. It was a gift, an unprovoked and unbelievably kind gift, from a man who was supposed to be the architect in the crippling of her brother.

Of course, Theon - had he been here - would claim that it was an act of a guilty conscience that had led the famed imp into doing this deed of kindness, or even to say that it was all an elaborate way as to throw off suspicion. Robbie thought differently though, as she flicked her wet eyes away from the detailed drawing and down to the Lannister Lord, whose own eyes looked far too Ernest and slightly embarrassed to be a deception. 

"With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple can ride," Tyrion cleaned his throat awkwardly before he pointed at the scroll still clutched within her shaking hands, "Give that to your saddler, he’ll provide the rest. You must shape the horse to the rider - start with a yearling and teach it to respond to the reins and to the boy’s voice."

"Will he really be able to ride?" Dare she hope.

"He will," Tyrion promised with a genuine smile, "On horseback, he'll be as tall as any of them."

"Why do you want to help him?" She had to ask, he was a Lord, a Southern one at that, and Southern Lords weren't known for helping others unprompted.

"I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards and broken things," he offered by way of explanation, reminding her of that night, all those many months ago when he gave her other brother some wise words of counsel on living life as a Bastard.

"You’ve done my brother a great kindness, my Lord," she spoke thickly, overtaken by emotion at his kind actions, "Thank you."

"You and your brother are most welcome, my Lady," Tyrion bowed, right as they entered the Great Hall, where two serving Maids were patiently waiting for them both, with two bowls, one within the other.

After the ensuring of Guestrights, Robbie left Lord Tyrion to settle in until evening meal was due, wasting no time in searching out Bran and Theon once more, hoping that they were both still in the training yard. 

"Bran?" She questioned upon spying Theon only, stood much farther away from the target than he had sat her brother, firing arrow after arrow straight into the targets blue circle heart.

How he could see it from where he stood, Robbie honestly did not know, she certainly couldn't hit the target from such a feat of a distance. And given that he had thought himself to be alone, she knew he wasn't doing to impress his superior skills upon anyone. Not that he'd need to bother with all that nonsense, everyone knew he was the best bowman in the north, even sir Rodrick, though he was certainly reluctant to admit such a fact about an Ironborn of all people.

He'd been her teacher, as best as he was able, and sure . . . she was an expert markswoman, but compared to him she looked like a complete amateur at best. His skill was a thing of beauty, and it was at moments like this, when he was open and at ease with himself, that Robbie was so keenly reminded of that fact.

"Luwin came and collected him just a short while ago," Theon informed, all without ever turning to face her, as he sunk another arrow into the wooded board, "To clean up for supper, I suppose."

"Aye, most probably, we should be doing the same," She crossed closer to him, stopping with her front almost flush with his back, as a playful smile curled up her lips unseen, lips that purposefully brushed against the exposed nape of his neck with every spoken word, "We have guests, after all."

She caught the shiver that took over his body with a pleased chuckle, a soft blush dusting her cheeks, as she slipped her arms gently about his waist from behind. It was dangerous and entirely too reckless an action, anyone could walk passed and see her wrapped about it him, leaving no room for explanation against what was clear to see. But she couldn't help herself, she relished being the cause of Theon Greyjoy's undoing, in being the one to make him shiver and his heart to beat a wild taboo beneath her pale upon his chest. 

He made her feel so . . . _womanly_ , and oh-so powerful, enough that even the ghosting of her lips upon his flesh was enough to undo the most notorious bed-hopper that was Theon Greyjoy. It filled her with a body-confidence and a need that she knew she could never freely explore, or would ever find with someone else, a feeling just outside of her realm of grasp.

Annoyingly still, Theon's arrow met it's mark upon the blue circle with a hard thunk, before his arms relaxed down at his sides, careful not to dislodge her loose hold upon him. It made her smile into the back of his shoulder, charmed to know that his every action was made to ensure that her arms remained wrapped about him, arms that tightened in response.

"Will I be seated down at the lower tables this evening, my Lady?" Theon asked formally, making her stiffen bodily, as her heart stuttered at his casually spoken words, almost as if they held no matter to him, when in fact they meant a hell of a lot more than he'd ever let onto.

"Lord Tyrion is our guest," she spoke softly into the material of his doublet, regret and very real sadness tainting her voice, "I would not be proper to have you seated up at the high-table at my side, Theon, you know this."

Any other day, he'd be there, to her left, while Bran sat to her right, as she had taken to having him seated the very same day upon her mother leaving. The older red-headed woman would never have permitted it, so Robbie had dared not try it until she was firmly away from the castle. Honestly, if Theon had been any Lord's son but a Greyjoy he'd have a seat already by her side, hell . . . he might even already have her hand in marriage, but as it stood he was a Greyjoy and he did not have her hand, nor the right to sit at her side during meal times. 

It was highly improper, Robbie knew, but she had ignored the knowing looks set upon her by her people, for none of them truly seemed to mind the impropriety of it, nor had Bran. In fact, her little brother hadn't even so much as given Robbie a second look at the new seating arrangement, he had simply just accepted it without protest or comment. And she loved him dearly for it, for his reaction was probably the sole thing that had quelled the few that probably did mind an Ironborn sitting upon the high-table. 

Even still, as she felt him pull out of her embrace, not harsh enough to be considered an offence to her, but certainly not gentle enough to belie the hurt that he was obviously feeling in that moment. If it were her choice alone, without family, duty, or tradition weighing her decisions down, he'd have a seat at her side for the rest of their days.

But she was the Heir, it was a position she had fought tooth and nail for, she'd given her all to be considered worthy to overtake her younger brother as the future ruler of Winterfell and the North. It was her dream, the only thing beside's Theon she had ever wanted for her own, it was her birthright. If she could have them both . . . but she knew she couldn't, he was an Heir to a great house of his own, and as a male heir, it would mean her giving up her seat to sit beside him at his high-table in his own castle upon the sea.

She'd never be his equal, in his eyes maybe she would, but _never_ in the eyes of his people. She'd be an outsider, a Greenlander, the Stark bitch that had stolen his heart and turned him soft in the eyes of his brutish people. It was just the way of things, she supposed, the seven kingdoms had both a King and a Queen, and yet only one rules above it all.

Robbie didn't want to be someones second, standing meekly in the shadow of a man, trapped within pretty lace and a flurry of skirts. No, she wanted to be the one giving orders, taking charge, and putting entitled men in their place whenever they foolishly sort to test her resolve. 

"Aye, my Lady," Theon agreed mutedly, as he took several steps away from her, eyes fixed pointedly upon the bow in his hand, jaw clenched in frustrated spite, "It wouldn't be proper."

She knew he was making a stab at her brief and daring embrace just moments before with his last comment, making her cheeks flush with embarrassment as he highlighted her actions so subtly, yet leaving no doubt that he meant his seemingly placating words to cut.

That was the thing about Theon Greyjoy, he could be so cruel at times, it was in his nature if you were to listen to her mother. Robbie, however, believed it was a defence mechanism, a way for him to protect himself and to hurt those who had hurt him right back, and hurt him she had. 

"One day, when we are grown and are the ones ruling our lands, not our parents," Robbie started earnestly, as she reached out and took one of his calloused hands into her own, all but forcing him to meet her eyes head-on, "You and your men will visit my Halls, drink and sup at my table as my fondest guests, and sit at my side as my equal."

"Aye, one day . . . I may," Theon agreed, hand tightening upon hers for a drawn-out moment, before he pulled his back and took another step away, "As your equal, but not as your husband, someone else will he holding that seat warm, won't they."

It wasn't a question, so much as a statement of facts, because they both knew the truth of it, someone else would be seated to her left and it wouldn't be Theon. No doubts it would be some Northern Lord's son, with one of Rickard Karstark's boys being the most likely. 

So, when Theon turned and walked away, Robbie didn't call him back, no matter how desperately her heart begged her to do so, it just wouldn't be fair to either of them. Instead, she watched with a heavy heart and building tears in her eyes, blind to the sad pitying looks the servants gave her in passing. 

From the highest lord to the lowest serving hand in the North, all saw the love that the Greyjoy and Stark heir housed for one another, you'd have to be blind not to. Not that it mattered, highborn children did not marry for love, and their pairing would bear no fruit for their conflicting houses. 

None, save for more conflict, in the long run.


	8. Chapter Eight ~ Smells Like Home To Me

_**Winterfell, Wolfswood** _

* * *

**T** he moment Tyrion Lannister's saddle plans were complete, found Robbie and Theon sat upon a large boulder in the Wolfswoods surrounding Winterfell, while Bran hooted and hollered in the near-off distance, as he rode around them upon his new horse. It was a sight and sound that warmed her heart greatly, seeing the life back in his eyes once more, as the wind whipped freely through his shoulder-long locks of brown. 

The Ironborn heir was still giving her the cold shoulder, steaming from that one passive-aggressive argument they had in the training yard a sennight previous, and given that Lord Tyrion had long left the North and Theon was back at her side upon the high-table at dinner, Robbie reckoned it was about time they move on from this particular disagreement. But apparently Theon had other ideas, at least if his clipped words and ever avoidant eyes were anything to go by, he wasn't ready to stop beating the well and truly dead horse that was their foolish feelings for one another. 

But even still, he certainly had no issues visiting Ros down at Wintertown's brothel every other day, and yet Robbie did not make a fuss about how _that_ one repetitive action made her feel? No, she didn't, because she knew she couldn't give him what Ros could, not without losing all honour she had to her name in the process. She should be used to it, she supposed, watching him leave her to go crawl between the thighs of another woman, and yet . . . it _still_ felt like broken glass to the heart, even after all these many years of having to endure him doing so. 

"Not too fast!" Robbie ordered of Bran with a genuine smile curving up her pale face, as she forcibly pushed all thoughts of Theon and other red-headed women that weren't _her_ from her mind, electing to focus upon the here and now.

"When you gonna' tell him?" Theon asked of her, using more words in that one sentence than he had spoken to her all day so far, as they watched Bran do another lap around them.

"Not now," she sighed, glaring at Theon slightly from the corner of her eye for breaking the content bubble she had just erected about herself.

"Blood for blood," Theon reminded firmly, "You _need_ to make the Lannisters pay for Jory and the others."

He was of the same mind as most of the men of Winterfell were, that the slight the Lannisters had bestowed upon the North and the Stark House as a whole should be met with just as much brutality as it was originally been served with, an eye for an eye, as the old saying goes.

Robbie wasn't immune, she felt the attack just as keenly as everyone else did, if not more so. Jory was like an older brother to her, she'd grown up chasing at his heels, their relationship wasn't just that of duty, there was genuine love there also and her heart was broken by the news of his death. News that had come to them that very morning, which left very little time for her to process all that had transpired, so Robbie honestly didn't know what she was supposed to do with that knowledge.

She understood where Theon and the other men were coming from, it simply wouldn't be right to let the needless deaths of their men go unavenged. However, on the other hand, she couldn't very well go and charge off down to King's Landing with an aim to attack the Lannisters directly, it would mean certain death for her father and sisters, and probably her and whoever foolishly followed her South too. 

"You're talking about _war_ ," she pointed out curtly, for sure it seem that that simple fact had escaped his notice.

"I'm talking about _justice_ ," Theon argued, not yet seeing the possible repercussions of such a course of action the way Robbie was.

If she were to march her men - an army of _Northern_ men - South to attack the Lannisters, of whom were tightly entangled with the crown, it wouldn't just be seen as one house taking up arms against another. It would be seen as an act of war. Without her father's written orders to do as such, or a clear indication that her father and her sister's lives directly hung in the balance, Robbie could not call her family's Banners. No matter how much she dearly wanted to drive her own sword through the heart of Jaime Lannister, of whom her father's letter had stated was the one to order Jory's death at the hand's of his fellow knights, she could not act so rashly when the lives of thousands rested upon her shoulders.

"Only the _Lord_ of Winterfell can call in the bannermen and raise an army," Robbie sighed, turning to shoot Theon a look that clearly implored him to just drop his pushing, it wasn't going to result in anything but more friction between them both, "And while my father is still alive that responsibility resides with him - _not_ me."

"A Lannister put his spare through your father's leg," Theon reminded harshly, sea-grey eyes storming as they met her own head-on, with his jaw clenched tight in frustrated anger, "The King's slayer rides for Casterly Rock, where no one can touch him."

Robbie wasn't the only one that was fond of Jory, Theon had more respect for the late captain of the guards to House Stark than he had for most, for Jory was one of the few that seemed to honestly like Theon, despite his Ironborn birthright and antagonistic ways. If he weren't at Robbie's side, the young Ironborn male could have been sure to be found at Jory's, so she knew his anger was really just misplaced sorrow. 

"You want me to march on Casterly Rock?" Robbie demanded, frustration leaking into her voice - damn it, she was hurting too!

"You're not a little girl anymore, Roberta," Theon stated sharply, his voice rising a few notches as he used her full name to hit his point home, all the while glaring hard at her, "They've _attacked_ your father, they've already started the war. It's your _duty_ to represent your house when your father can't."

Bullshit, he knew just as she did, that it was by her father's own hand that the news from the South had travelled to them, and he had stated perfectly clear that any action that was to be taken would be dealt with by _him_. Her father, despite how it seemed given what had happened to the men that had travelled south with him, was not a prisoner, so she did not want to act and unintentionally turn him into one. 

"And it's not _your_ duty, because it's not _your_ house," Robbie shot back, regret following her words the very next second after they left her mouth, as Theon's face almost immediately closed off.

It was a cruel thing to say, she knew it and her heart hurt with the truth of it, but she had just been so irritated by his pushiness and attitude of late. Didn't he realise that this was hard enough as it was? She didn't need him questioning her at every turn, doubting her.

His betrayed look of pain was too much for her to bear at that moment, she had to turn away, and it was as she did so that she finally noted Bran's sudden absence - how could she have not registered his lack of hooting and hollering before now? Pushing to her feet so suddenly that she stumbled, Robbie frantically looked around her with her heart in her throat, fear building, as it sang a terrifying tune behind the confines of her rib cage.

"Where is Bran?"

At her question, Theon shot to his feet beside her, looking around him just as she had just done, "Don't know," he muttered with just as much concern as her question had been posed with. But then . . . he turned to her, with a spiteful look in his grey-blue eyes, and said, "It's not _my_ house."

She felt as if someone had just stolen all the breath from her lungs at his cold words, watching as he turned and walked away from her with her mouth gaping and disbelief causing a harsh sting to build behind her eyes, as he left her to look for Bran by herself. She deserved it, she knew she did, her words were so far out of line she knew she'd be feeling the shame of it for many moons to come. But even still, it hurt to see him walking away from her like that, to leave her when he knew she needed him the most.

Frustrated tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but she blinked them firmly away, for no man was worth her tears, not even Theon. With one last glare at his retreating back, Robbie turned and headed off into the direction she had last seen her way-would brother, all but stomping off with determination building in her rushed stride. 

A stride that's slowed as she wondered the Wolfswoods for nearly half an hour, before she finally came upon her brother, though not as alone or as merry as she had hoped to find him again, surrounded by several people that struck a visceral fear in Robbie's heart. There was four of them, three men and one woman - all Wildlings; their heavy furred attire a dead give away, it was overkill, even for this far North.

_What on earth are Wildlings doing this far south of the Wall_ , she wondered to herself, as she treaded closer, actively aware of every footfall, knowing that these people would hear a misstep more keenly than anyone else was likely to. Luckily enough for her, they were deep in a whispered conversation, their words lost on Robbie from her distance, which made her pray to the Gods that her steps were just as lost. 

"Drop the knife," she ordered the man who appeared to be the ring-leader of sorts, the one who had just carelessly cut Bran as he attempted to remove her brother's leg-brace free from the horse he still sat upon.

As one they all turned to face her, freezing in surprise, as she pulled her sword free of the sheave at her hip, "Let him go and I'll let you live."

She was more than a fair fighter, she had had to be to prove herself to the men of Winterfell time and time again, but even still, even _she_ herself very much doubted that she could take them all - but that didn't mean she wouldn't give it her best try regardless. 

One of the men charged her, but only after the ring-leader gave him a subtle head title, rushing at her with a battle cry, as he swung his axe for her head. Robbie pivoted back on the balls of her feet, light and quick as a flea as she moved, thanks to her small stature, before swinging her sword up to meet his next blow head-on.

With a grunt at the sheer force that it took her to knock the man's hit back, Robbie actually stumbled a little in her footing, before regaining her stance, all before he had even recovered from his almost blow. Clearly, he was not a skilled fighter, his tactic was all survival and no brains, so it was relatively easy for her to unbalance him with one blow to his non-dominate side and then slice his throat with another soon after.

He pulled back from her with a gurgled cry as he stumbled and fell to his back, blood escaping his wound at an alarming pace, of which his panicked and grasping hands could not stem the flow of. She paid him no mind though, not as the woman Wildling charged her next, with a determined look in her dark eyes that Robbie knew well, and a rather large stick in her hands.

Besides mock fighting with wooden sword with her youngest sister, Robbie had never actually fought against another woman before and had this not been an honest-to-Gods fight for her's and Bran's lives, she might have actually enjoyed the rarity of it. She held herself the same way as Robbie, and for a moment, it threw Robbie off mentally simply because she had never actually fought some so close to her own build before.

Smaller people, which women most often were, who also often found themselves having to fight against someone much larger than themselves, _have_ to learn good stance and technique, solely because they _can’t_ rely on that natural-born strength. Because no matter how hard she might try, Robbie knew, just as this woman before knew, that neither of them can out-muscle someone who is stronger than they are. _But_ a smaller person can hold their own against a larger one, simply by putting that smaller frame to use, because it’s easier for them to get under the big person’s centre.

But Robbie couldn't use any of her usual sure-tried techniques against this woman, so when her hit swung for Robbie's side it hit true, getting a pained cry out of her. Usually, Robbie would have bobbed her way under the hit, which - had it came from a man of bigger stature to herself - would have arched well above her head. 

Taking the blow and the pain that bloomed in her ribs with a strategic stumble back, Robbie used the distance now made between them to rear back, bringing the flat bottom of her booted foot up hard into the wildling woman's gut. The breath rushed out of her, as she was knocked back clean onto her arse, as Robbie smacked her sword angrily down upon her make-shift weapon.

Not giving the woman time to recover, Robbie grabbed her up by the nest of brown hair upon her head, holding her in place as she took note of another man charging at her from her peripheral vision. Thankfully, this man was just as unskilled in swordsmanship as his companion had been, so all she had to do was angle her sword towards him at the last second, leaving way for him to promptly run himself threw with her sword, barely missing an axe to the head as he did so. 

"Robbie!" Bran's alarmed voice drew her full attention his way, as she let the fallen man's own dead bodyweight pull him free from her sword with a sickening squelch, as her gaze flicked over to Bran with an alarm of her own.

He was now out of his saddle, held standing by the strength of the last Wildling man alone, with a blade pressed against his vulnerably exposed throat. It was a sight that would haunt her nights for many years to come, Robbie was sure, for she had never before been so afraid.

One wrong step and her little brother would be dead.

" _Shut up_ ," the Wildling man snapped at Bran harshly, with spittle painting her brother's face, getting whimper of disgust from Bran as he turned his face away from the man's, as much as he was able to, that is. But the man held him close, cheek now brushing against Bran's own, as he turned to look darkly over at Robbie, "Drop the blade, girl!"

" _No_ , don't!" Bran begged, knowing just as Robbie did, that the moment she lowered her sword they were both as good as dead.

" _Do it!_ " 

But as she looked over at her little brother, helpless and held at knifepoint, Robbie realised that she really didn't have a choice in the matter, not when Bran's life hung in the balance. With anger locking her jaw tight, Robbie slowly lowered her beloved sword to the ground, never once taking her hard gaze off of the man before her, even while she remained her tight hold upon the Wildling woman's hair.

But she needn't have worried, for the moment her sword tip touched the ground at her feet, an arrow found it's way right through the man's chest from behind, killing him before he even hit the ground. She let out a gasp as the arrow tip landed a few inches shy of Bran's head, _far_ too close for Robbie's comfort, as she watched in surprised as the man fell backwards, releasing Bran as he did so.

Bran dropped like a stone in the water at the absence of someone holding his dead legs upright. But due to his understandable fright at having an arrow appear an inch from his face, he jerked enough to the side to cause him to fall just beside the men, rather than fall back with him. 

The man's fall revealed his killer: Theon; of whom stood there, lowering his bow, with a pleased smile curling up his lips, the very same one he wears every time he hits a bullseye dead centre. She flittered between relief and blinding anger, as she released the Wildling woman with a harsh shove, crossing to Bran without even so much as a second thought for the woman.

Theon, however, knew better than to lower his guard, and drew his bow tort once again, as he checked that his kill was dead, before passing Robbie in favour of guarding their backs against the Wildling woman. Robbie paid him no mind either, as she dropped into the ground at Bran's side upon her knees, with her now shaking her hands fluttered over his form, all but outright demanding to know, "Are you alright?"

It was a silly question, she knew, as she immediately found a fresh cut deep into his thigh upon first glance, _clearly_ , he was _not_ fine. But even still, Bran tried to reassure her, "Yes, it doesn't hurt," as he patted her worrying hands gently.

"Tough little lad," Theon remarked with a smirk curling his lips up once more, all the while still holding the Wildling woman at arrow point, "In the Iron Isles you're not a man until you've killed your first enemy, well done."

" _Have you lost your mind?_ " Robbie asked in a near-hysterical screech that got a startled double-take from the cocky Ironborn and a wince from bran beside her, as she took in the sight of the three dead bodies littered around them, two of which Bran had watched her kill. "What if you had _missed_?!"

_Gods_ . . . she had taken _two_ lives today.

"He would have killed _you_ or _worst_ , and cut Bran's throat!" Theon shot back, anger and confusion drowning in his eyes, as he argued back in his defence.

Rationally Robbie knew his words to be true, she wasn't stupid - no, she was a pretty, young woman - it didn't take a well-read man to guess what they would have done to her had they half a chance, to Bran too. Theon had without a doubt just saved them, but even still, Robbie couldn't seem to stem her stubborn anger or the thought that had he been at her side, to begin with, _none_ of this would have happened at all. 

"You don't have the right - " she started to argue vainly, not actually knowing herself why she was choosing to argue with him at this moment, just that his stupidly handsome face was provoking a rage in her that she couldn't quite seem to rein back in now that it was letting itself free.

"To _what_?" Theon demanded harshly, eyes never leaving the Wildling woman even as he argued back, though, by the tightening of his hand upon his treasured bow, Robbie knew that he was far angrier than his already harsh voice was letting on to, "To save your brother's life? It was the _only_ thing to do - so _I_ did it."

Knowing that she couldn't reasonably argue against him for having the audacity to save both her's and Bran's lives, no matter how much a bitter part of herself longed to do just that, Robbie pulled Bran into her arms. He thankfully did not fight against her mothering, as he usually would have, letting her fold him into a tight embrace that was no doubt smothering for him. 

"What about her, then?" Theon asked irritatedly, motioning jerked with the tip of his still drawn arrow.

The woman in question flicked her tearful gaze between Robbie, still kneeling at Bran's side, and the arrow tip Theon still had squared upon her head, no doubt trying to work out who was in charge between the two of them. But after a moment of considering Theon as the one, she flicked her eyes back to Robbie, giving leave of any semblance of dignity as she all but crawled her way closer to Robbie on her hands and knees.

"Give me my life, Milady," She frantically begged as she threaded her grubby fingers together before her, "And I'm yours!"

Honestly, had it not been for the fact that Bran was sitting right there, Robbie probably would have sentenced the woman to a swift death, as her fellow raiders had met. But as it stood, she could not slay yet another person before her little brother's eyes, nor could she let Theon do so too. Bran had seen _enough_ death for one day, as had she.

"We'll keep her alive," Robbie decided, ignoring Bran as he turned curious eyes upon her in the wake of at her decision, for no doubt he could see the danger in keeping the woman alive just as keenly as Robbie could.

Most men would have probably seen her as weak, just a mere woman, who could pose no real threat to them. But as a woman herself, Robbie knew better, she knew that a woman had more weapons to her name than the one she could pick up and wield with her hands. Which was why the very moment they return back the castle Robbie was going to have her put in chains, better to be safe rather than sorry in the long run, and that way she could just put her to work until her father got home, let him deal with her when he returns.

The woman did not seem to care about the clear suspicion that hardened Robbie's gaze as they took her in, not as she let out a breathy laugh, with clear relief contorting her actually rather pretty face, as her body sagged to the ground, with all fight leaving her shaking form.

"Theon," Robbie called out, only after clearing her throat awkwardly, as she watched her friend relent on his bowstring, "I need you to carry Bran back."

With a slight nod and thankfully no argument, Theon moved to her side, readily handing off his bow to her, as he bent and scooped Bran up with ease. As was true with most Northern bred men, young and old, Theon was physically strong - he wouldn't break even so much as a sweat carrying Bran back to Winterfell, she knew, and she couldn't help resenting him for it a little.

It was petty, she knew, he couldn't help that he had the strength of a man any more than she could help the fact that she was born a woman, with the lesser physical strength of a woman. Though she was considerably more durable in a fight than your average woman, it admittedly hadn't come easy to her as it had to her male peers on the training ground. She had had to fight tooth and nail, harder and harder still, to become their equal. And yet, even still, she could not quite match them in sheer physical strength. It was an unfairness that ate bitterly at her insides like a slow-acting poison.

But poisoning herself from the inside out would do her no good, so with a sigh and a roll of her heavy shoulders, Robbie actively worked to let her unchangeable hang-ups go, as she motioned the Wildling woman forward with the tip of Theon's relinquished arrow tip. Instead, she turned her attention to the driftwood bow in her hands, a weapon from his homelands, gifted to him as a youngling by one of his uncles, just before he had been stolen away to the North to force peace. 

It was one of Theon's most treasured possession, something which he allowed no one but her to even touch, let alone wield. It wasn't as beautiful as the bows from the South were, or as intricately detailed as the ones from the East, or even as sturdy as the ones Robbie had always known from the North. It was unremarkably simple in its making, markless, not even a single Kraken was carved into the pale wood. But as Theon had shown her, many years ago now, when she first demand to know why he loved it so, that when one held it close and took a breath, you could almost smell the sea still clinging to the carved arch of driftwood.

It smelt like home to him.

And as that long-thought-forgotten memory resurfaced, causing her to look down at the wood in her hands with a renewed sense of shame, Robbie recalled her cruel words to him from earlier. Here he was, a hostage with a preverbal sword ever-present above his head, forcibly kept way from his homelands, and here she was . . . reminding him of that harrowing truth and excluding him from the only semblance of a family that he had in his new homelands with her thoughtless words, all in one fell swoop.

She'd never purposefully hurt him though, no matter her words because the truth of it was, he was the family her heart chose.

And to her . . . _he_ smelt like home.


	9. Chapter Nine ~ A Kiss Will Do

_**Winterfell, Great Hall**_

* * *

**I** n the handful of weeks that followed since the last news from the South found its way North, much distressing news was brought Robbie's way. First, the news of King Robert's death, and the arrest of her father that followed right after. But it was the letter from Sansa, detailing her 'wish' for Robbie to swear fealty to Joffrey, in order to maintain peace between the Starks and the Lannisters, which was the most distressing - because it meant that Robbie had a choice to make.

"Treason?" Robbie exclaimed in disbelief, as she reread the raven's scroll still held bridged between in her hands, head shaking at the sheer absurdity of it.

_Surely they were jesting_ , she thought with a boggled frown, for her father was the most honourable man she had ever met, and she simply refused to believe he was even capable of such a thing.

"Sansa wrote this?" Robbie asked of Luwin, even as she saw the truth of it in the familiar curled script she knew to be her sister's hand, she just didn’t _want_ to believe it.

"It is your sister's hand," Luwin agreed before going on to explain, "But it is the _Queen's_ words. You're summoned to King's Landing to swear fealty to the new King."

"Joffrey puts my father in chains and now he wants his arse kissed?" Robbie asked rhetorically, paired with an unladylike snort of disgusted disbelief, wishing in that moment that she had hit that little shit much harder than she had that day, all those months many ago now.

"This is a royal command, Milady," Luwin informed cautiously, "If you should refuse to obey-"

"I won't refuse,” Robbie reassured with a clenched jaw and determination steeling her conviction, “His Grace summons me to King's Landing - I will go to King's Landing. But not alone," she vowed, fire burning in her voice as hot as her hair, as she screwed up the letter before handing it back to Luwin, "Call the banners."

"All of them, Milady?" Luwin asked, with pride gleaming in his sad eyes.

To call all of them, every house sworn to the Northern seat was equal to a call for war, and they both knew it, an action that Luwin had cautioned her against just a handful of weeks ago now. But it was the only action left to them, they could hardly leave her father to rot in the Black Cells, nor her sisters to the mercy of the Lannisters, not after such a hostile and unprovoked action was made on their part.

"They've all sworn to defend my Father, have they not?"

"They have," Luwin agreed with a head bow, saying no more on the matter.

"Now we'll see what their words are worth," Robbie added, with her heart beating a mile a minute in her chest unseen.

With a nod and a soft smile twitching at his aged face, Luwin turned to follow through with Robbie's call for war, while she sat with a thumb back down beside Theon at the high table. Gods, how did a simple breakfast turn into a call for war? Turning to meet Theon's eyes, longing to see if he agreed with her, to know that her actions weren't foolish and unfounded. She needn't have worried, he looked back at her with a smirk on his face and pride in his eyes.

It had been near a full moon's turn since their argument, and she had yet to find the courage to apologize, as she should have done from the very beginning. But she was nothing if not a prideful creature, which made admitting her wrongs aloud something easier said than done, especially for a Lord's daughter who seldom ever had cause to utter any such wrongdoings. Had her slight been against one of her siblings, Robbie would have just let her actions speak for her regret, but Theon wouldn't care for such passive-aggressive bush-beating. With him, it was all brutal honesty or nothing at all, no middle ground, you either had the stones to admit when you were wrong or you didn't, it was as simple as that. 

So here she found herself, sitting awkwardly beside him, to all looking as if nothing was out of sorts, but Robbie could feel the tension between them festering with every day that passes them by. He was still civil to her, for he’d be foolish not to be, after all, she was the acting Lady of the castle while her parents were still away. But his words and actions towards her were hollow and curt, no bantering or stolen moments shared between them, and Robbie’s heart ached with the absence of it all.

"Are you afraid?" He asked, much to her surprise, as if the shook look she currently wore wasn't answer enough.

Bringing her trembling hand up for him to see, she let out a breath she hadn't known she had even been holding, "I must be."

"Good," Theon stated firmly, drawing a confused frown his way from her.

"Why is that good?"

"It means you're not stupid," he answered simply, voice sound almost harsh to her ears, as he turned back to his breakfast without any more imports of wisdom or words of comfort.

"Surely you aren't still mad at me, are you?" Robbie asked with a soft little sigh, words all blustering confidence that she did not rightly feel, more than ready for things to go back to the way they were before she had stuck her big foot in her own mouth.

He didn't answer her, not that she actually expected that he would, as he just continued to eat his food with a casual ease that put Robbie’s teeth on edge, as she sat stiff and awkward beside him. With another sigh and a breathy curse, Robbie turned on the bench she was seated upon, hooking one leg over the other side so she now straddled it, determined eyes locked firmly upon his side profile.

They were alone in the great hall now that Luwin had left them, something that wouldn’t have been allowed to have happened had her mother still been here, especially without Jon firmly placed between the two of them. It wasn't proper, she knew, to be alone with him without a chaperon - Gods, the fit her mother would have if she ever did found out . . . But in that moment, Robbie didn't care, not while she and Theon were so out of sorts with one another, it just felt so very wrong with them acting as distant as they were now.

"Come on, Theon - you know I didn't mean it," she pleaded softly, shuffling closer to him on the bench they shared, so close in fact that her inner thighs pressed lightly against his hip and thigh.

With a sigh of his own, deep and rattling, he finally put his fork own before turning to mirror her position upon the bench, straddling the wooden seat just as she did. The action brought his handsome face and body much closer to hers than it had ever purposefully been before out in the open as they were now, with barely a foot or two between them both, his very intention no doubt. Theon was always trying to find ways to bridge the distance she actively placed between them - she did it only because she wanted to spare them both the unnecessary pain that would follow allowing their care for one another to grow unchecked. 

"You shouldn't say things you don't mean, little wolf," he muttered, aged anger clear in his evenly spoken voice, as he finally met her remorseful eyes head-on. 

"How can I make this right, Theon?" She asked upon an exhausted huff, as she looked desperately up at his hard face, truly not understanding why men always felt the need to sulk so much - it was annoying, to be quite honest.

In her not so humble opinion, men were far more emotional than their female counterparts, no matter how all would insist it to be the other way around. The only difference that she could see was that men tend to hide it better, for it was just the way of things, with men being taught to keep their emotions to themselves from birth. They're taught to believe that sensitivity is synonymous with weakness, which is why Robbie had to hide her own emotion to be considered an equal with them, for she didn't want to be thought of as any weaker than they no doubt already thought her to be.

It's a ridiculous notion, of course, for being able to sense more, feel more, experience more, understand more, interact more with the world, surely couldn't be anything but strength, an advantage - not something to be ashamed of. But this was the fucked up world that they live in, where tears were a sign of weakness, as was one's feelings and their compassion. 

"Tell me whatever it is you need me to say or do for you to forgive me, and I will do so, I swear it."

Robbie was just ready for all this unpleasantness to be firmly behind them. Things were unsteady around Winterfell as it was, what with tending to Bran, while dealing with a large castle alone, and now the mess to the South on top of it all . . . she _needed_ Theon at her side more than ever before. It's a place he has been for as long as she can remember, in fact, Robbie barely remembered a time when he wasn't there, giving her counsel or an unhelpful running commentary that grated on her nerves, more often than not. 

But even still, she should have had the sense to choose her words more carefully, if the mischievous light flickering to life in his eyes was anything to go by. Robbie knew she had made a great blunder, nothing good ever come to her when Theon had _that_ particular look his eye, nothing at all.

"A kiss will do," he said casually, _far_ too casually, as if what he asked for was something oh-so simply given, with a smirk readily forming upon his lips.

"Surely you must be jesting, Theon?" She chuckled half-heartedly, with a slightly desperate edge to her breathy sound, truly hoping that he was, and yet knowing that despite all Theon's jokes . . . _this_ wasn't one of them.

"I'm dead serious actually, little wolf – right here, right now," he confirmed her fears with a cocky raised brow, challenging her, "Why, you scared?"

"Why must you always insist on fanning _this_ particular flame, Theon?" She demanded in a huff, shooting him an irritated look, "Nothing could ever come of it, so why bother - it'll only hurt us both in the end."

"You want me," he stated boldly, brushing aside her concerns carelessly, with confidence growing in his eyes as she made no attempt to deny it, "And I want you - and Ironborns _take_ want they want."

"So that’s what you intend, is it, Theon," she asked shakily, for just a moment, wondering if he even cared that he was not just asking for a simple kiss, but for her to risk her reputation and whatever future match her parents elected to make for her, "To take me as you would one of those common whores down at the Tavern I _know_ you see on occasion?"

She had never minded too much about all his whores down in Wintertown, okay . . . _maybe_ just about Ros, only because Robbie knew she was his favourite. Men had needs, she knew, and he certainly wasn't getting them met with Robbie, so she couldn't exactly be mad at him for looking elsewhere, especially when they weren't promised to each other and never would be. Did it help that his favourite had hair red enough to match her own . . . maybe a little bit, but it still hurt Robbie's heart none the less. 

"No, not like them," Theon assured gently, more gently than anyone would think Theon Greyjoy capable of - not Robbie though, she knew, because he was always at his gentlest with her, "They mean nothing. But you . . . you mean _everything_ to me, little wolf."

Her heart shuttered at his words and her belly was set alight with a swarm of butterflies, sensations that she hated him a little for making her feel, for she knew she wasn't ever going to feel it again with someone else. It didn't help that his eyes spoke of his honesty, as he held her gaze firmly, letting her see the truth of it reflecting right back at her. It was a dangerous game he wanted to play, one she didn't feel much like opting out of at that very moment, even if her mind screamed for her to ignore her fluttering heart. So, with a quick double-check that they were still the only ones occupying the hall, Robbie lent up, drawing her face closer to his own with a held breath of anticipation.

Robbie had never kissed anyone before, not someone that wasn't her kin, at least, but those had all just been chaste kisses and pecks upon the cheek. Of course, she had wondered what it would be like to share a kiss with someone, and that someone was often Theon Greyjoy - seven hells, who was she kidding - that someone was _always_ Theon Greyjoy. 

He held himself still, as she brought her face to stop just mere inches from his own, with her eyes firmly holding his. It was an intimate position to find herself in, one she hadn't ever allowed herself to be placed in before, it just hadn't seemed worth the risk to her reputation to do so. And yet, here she found herself, with her lips a hairsbreadth from Theon's, Winterfell's notorious skirt-chaser, right out where someone could easily stumble upon them both. 

"Aren't you going to kiss me then, Greyjoy?" She prompted shakily, not having the courage to make the first move, and not having the knowledge to follow through even if she did.

"No," he refused lightly, a playful smile curling his lips handsomely, "I will not steal your first kiss, Robbie. But . . . you can gift me with it if you like."

She was oddly charmed by his surprising show of refrain, something he had proved time and time again that he didn't much possess. And yet, here they were, with him holding back for her sake, despite how much she knew he wanted to just ravish her like the brute everyone claimed Ironborns were at heart. 

Her mother had told her what to expect when being intimate with a man for the first time, saying that it was best to just let him have his way, so it might be over quicker. Robbie had never cared much for that piece of advice, not that she had told her mother or Septa as much, but the truth was if her future husband ever tried to take what she did not first freely give . . . well, Robbie might just ensure that no heirs could ever be made between them with a quick slice of her blade. 

So, the fact that she wasn't being ravished in a brutish manner presently, as she had been warned to expect, but given the choice and lead, left Robbie feeling a little out of sorts and more than a little light-headed with nervous excitement. Her kiss was a gift for him, and yet his refrain was solely for her, a little give and take on both their parts. Which was how Robbie had always thought intimate relations between two people should always be, making her less afraid in the wake of it, as she reminded herself that she _knew_ that he'd never willingly hurt her.

Letting out a deep shuttered breath, Robbie took the plunge and pressed her lips slowly up against his own, in a feather-light brush that was barely there at all. And yet, despite that light touch, Robbie's world exploded around her - a combination of excitement, nerves, longing - all of it leaving her a trembling mess attached to Theon by only one point of contact. He didn't move to deepen the kiss, and Robbie instinctively knew that he wouldn't, she'd have to be the one to lead if she wanted this to go anywhere. It would have to be her choice, for Theon wouldn't make it for her, and though she loved him for it, she longed for some kind of direction.

_Am I doing it right?_ She wondered as she tilted her head ever-so-slightly, pressing her lips more firmly against his own, of which took whatever she offered passively. 

With a huff and a pouty glare, Robbie pulled back, snapping frustratedly, "Theon Greyjoy, if you don't kiss me back I swear I'll never kiss you agai-"

With an amused smirk, Theon's large calloused hand moved to cup her fair cheek, before moving down to hook around her neck, drawing her back in. He didn't elect to let her finish her outburst, and for that she didn't mind too much, not since he chose that moment to finally act, taking her mouth in a kiss so deep and unchaste that her toes curled right there in her boots.

Since her mouth had been open, in the middle of speaking when he decided to shut her up, his tongue had no resistance as it found its way inside, happily curling around her own less confident one. But he didn't falter in the wake of her inexperience, and after a few fumbled passes, Robbie was able to mimic his movements enough to push back against him with equal force and enthusiasm. 

Using the hand still curled about the nape of her neck, while his other reached down to hook about her right thigh, Theon hoisted her leg up, hooking it over the top his own, while she helped willingly by moving her left leg to follow suit, all without his mouth ever disconnecting from her own. With that done, he wrapped his arm about her waist, pulling her body flush up against his own, with her all but straddling his lap instead of the bench they both sat upon. Not expecting to be pulled up so suddenly, Robbie fumbled slightly, falling hard into him, clutching at his shoulders to steady herself as she did so.

Robbie alt to have stopped all this foolish right then, especially as she was now plastered unseemly against Theon’s hard-toned front like some sort of floozy, with his daring hands caressing over places only she had ever touched before. But she honestly didn't want to stop any more than he appeared to, not after he had lit the spark in her body, a fire that only burned for him, and without him there to tame it she knew it would consume her wholly. 

Had it not been for Rickon's laughter sounding from the Great Hall’s welcoming entrance, followed soon after by Hodor "Hodor"-ing right along behind him, Robbie feared for what she might have let happen between them. With a startled gasp of genuine shock and embarrassment, Robbie pushed herself so hard away from Theon that she toppled over the side of the bench, landing upon the stone ground with a hard thump.

"Seven hells," she grumbled out in pain, as she sat up, with a hand going straight to the pained lump she could feel growing at the back of her head.

"That was a little dramatic, don't you think, little wolf?" Theon snorted with a far too pleased smirk, as he looked down at her, not once offering her a helping hand up, the smug prick.

"I was trying to protect my virtue, you letch!" She shot back, cheeks tainted pink, as she used the side of the bench to pull herself to her feet with as much dignity as she could manage, " _That_ was more than a simple kiss."

"Aye, it was," Theon agreed, his smirk never faltering, "But it was nothing you didn't freely give me."

He wasn't wrong, and had Rickon not given interruption she feared she might have given a lot more, a truth of which only left her feeling more than a little shook to her core. That one selfish action could have brought shame upon her house, upon herself and her father, all because she put her love over her duty. She knew her place and what was expected of her, she always had, if only because her father had never hidden it from her: she was to marry a match that benefited the North and then give it Stark heirs. 

A match with a Greyjoy could do neither of those things, especially not with the Greyjoy heir, who couldn't give up his name, lands, and future heirs to another house. They couldn't be together, it was a harsh truth they both knew, had always known. And she had been right, they should have left well alone, because now she knew what she was missing, and it _hurt_.

Blinking tears from her eyes, Robbie turned away from him so he wouldn't see them, but Theon knew her every expression and action by heart nowadays and tell something was wrong before she could even fully turn from him. He was up and off the bench in an instant, by her side the very next, both hands coming up to cradle her pale face gently between them. There was no hiding her tears from him now that he had her face trapped and turned towards him, but maybe if she closed her eyes she could pretend he could see them, to hold onto that delusion of control for just a few precious moments more.

"Why are you crying?" Theon asked softly, clearly at a loss, as his thumbs swiped out gently to catch her falling tears before they could even leave the cradle of her lashes.

"Why did you have to ask me to do _that_ , huh?" She demanded to know in turn, "It was _cruel_ , Theon, to the both of us."

"I can't steal you. I know that, even though you're _mine_ in all ways and I'm yours just the same," he stated thickly, frown above his brow deep, and sorrowful anger brewing in his stormy eyes as they met her own in a harsh clash of blue, "But your first kiss . . . I _will_ steal that for my own."

"It's not stealing, remember," Robbie reminded, as she smiled half-heartedly up at him, before letting her forehead come to rest against his own in a defeated press, "Not if I give it to you freely."

"And do you, little wolf?" He asked with a playful smile, as he nudged the tip of her nose with his own.

"Aye, I do – Gods, help me - but I do," Robbie grumbled back just as playfully, getting a soft chuckle from her Ironborn.

"Fuck your Gods, little wolf, they're mean son of a bitches," Theon remarked bluntly, rubbing his nose against her own as he did so, "Had we been in my God's domain, and not your frozen Gods of Old, I would have made you mine long ago."

"We can't do this again, Theon," Robbie breathed heavily against his lips, just shy of actually touching, as she tried to find the strength to pull away altogether, "You must know this as well as I do?"

"Can't we just have this time together before it’s gone?" Theon came as close to begging as his pride would allow for, "I don't want to regret a single misspent minute with you."

"No moment spent with you could ever be considered misspent," she vowed back thickly in response, only to be swept up in another kiss, only much softer, almost as if he were trying to breathe her in and make this kiss last forever.

"I thought we just agreed never to do that again?" Robbie huffed against his lips, as she pulled back to breathe, but unable to stop the smile that curved there as he chased her lips right after for another kiss.

"Aye, _you_ agreed," Theon smirked, eyes alight with mirth and warmth, as he pecked her once again, before adding, "But _I_ made no such promise, little wolf."

"If someone finds us like this-" she tried to caution, to be the voice of reason, only to be soundly cut off by his lips once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol okay, truth time, I had this chapter written not too long after the last one was posted . . . only I made the stupid and regrettable decision to try editing it after a night out with my workmates when I was more than a little *too* tipsy to be doing so. Needless to say, I f*cked it up so bad I ended up having to scrap most of it because my drunken editions where hilariously bad - I'm just lucky I didn't think to post it at the time, or I would have had to bury myself in a deep hole of pure shame, because it was honestly *that* bad lol. 
> 
> Anywho, sorry it took so long to post, and hope you all enjoyed it! x


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